Domestic Bliss (Or Something Like It)
by Sheyrena Wyrsabane
Summary: The Apocalypse has been averted. The alien invasion of Manhattan has been stopped. Dean and Clint are trying to figure out how their relationship is going to work now that Dean isn't a federal fugitive, but Dean hears that Alastair's coming for him, he starts making bad decisions. Like making a deal with Crowley.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this out here. I hadn't intended on a sequel, but I had this cute fluffy one-shot planned, and then I started a Sam/Natasha arc that grew plot, and so then a full sequel was born. It's longer and Dean has more issues (shocking, I know), but Sam and Cas feature more in this story and of course, the Avengers.

Sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy!

PS This is a sequel to So An Archer and a Hunter Walk into a Bar

* * *

As it turns out, preventing the apocalypse and stopping a hostile alien takeover was the easy part of Dean's week. The after party was fun—good booze, good company—and Dean finally managed to get laid.

That, of course, is when things start going downhill. Dean loves Clint, and he's thoroughly enjoyed their relationship, amusing texts, occasional phone calls, and he'd definitely enjoyed the sex, but he's never been one for commitment or settling. He's stopped thinking about the future, because he doesn't know if he has a future. Trying to stop the apocalypse kind of narrows your life focus into the here and now.

Which is why Dean is completely caught off guard when Tony Stark leans over the breakfast island and says, "Hey, so when are you moving in?"

And Dean's mouth drops, and Sam chokes on his coffee, and Dean's hitting the panic, eject, retreat button so fast he almost falls off his chair.

"Excuse me, what?" he finally manages to say, and he's glad that it's just him, Sam, and Tony in the kitchen.

Tony laughs. "When are you moving in? I mean, there's plenty of space, and your boyfriend lives here, and now that you're technically SHIELD consultants, you probably want to live nearby."

Dean hadn't thought it possible for his mind to short circuit even more, but apparently it could, because now he's just gaping, and Sam has to pick up his end of the conversation.

"We're SHIELD consultants?" Sam's incredulous and disbelieving, but he can manage words which is better than Dean's doing at this point. "Isn't the FBI freaking out about that? They think we're dead. They want us in jail if we're not dead."

Tony waves a hand. "Taken care of. That's why you were made consultants. You're never going to be able to teach small children or win citizen of the year, but the FBI won't prosecute you unless SHIELD withdraws their support." The first bit of a frown works its way onto Tony's face. "Is this news to you?"

Dean's mind is spinning too fast. Tony Stark has just offered them a place to stay in his tower, apparently they're employed by SHIELD, that's a job and a home and permanence, and Dean's not ready for that. It would be like moving in with his boyfriend and settling down and staying put, and Dean jumps to his feet.

"Thanks for the offer, but we've got to go." Dean grabs Sam's arm. "You know, evil to vanquish and all that. Come on, Sam."

"Wait, what?" Sam's feet stumble along as Dean drags him out of the room. "We just averted the apocalypse!"

"That doesn't mean all the bad things have suddenly vanished." Dean pauses outside of Clint's room and takes a deep breath. "No, you're right. I'm dragging you off without a thought. You can stay here if you want. I'm going to go kill things."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Quit being so melodramatic. I'm not going to abandon you to get yourself killed doing something stupid. But you do realize that you're running away, right?"

"We stopped by to say hi, we're moving on. I'm not running away, I'm living."

Right, Sam says, and he doesn't believe Dean for a second. "Well, let me go track down Cas, because he was our ride here. Uh, you want to meet us in the living room once you're ready?"

Dean looks at Sam like he's speaking a different language. "What? What do you mean once I'm ready?"

Sam takes a deep 'why is my brother an idiot' breath. "You're not going to disappear without telling Clint you're leaving. You might not have the balls to stay and try an actual relationship, but don't be a complete dick."

Dean glares at Sam before storming into the room and slamming the door. It makes Dean feel better for all of a moment, before he's leaning back against the door wondering how he'd managed to get completely blindsided by this.

He'd been wanting to see more of Clint, but wanting to actually see the person you're dating every once in awhile and moving in with them are two completely different steps, and Dean is ready for the first, but he's definitely not ready for the second. And now Clint's employer is trying to tie Dean down by offering him protection from the FBI and maybe even a job? Dean doesn't need help, and he doesn't need charity. He and Sam have managed just fine on their own.

"You're in a mood," Clint says, coming out of the bathroom. He has one towel slung low across his hips, and he's rubbing another through his hair, trying to dry it. "What's going on?"

Now that Dean's standing in front of Clint, he's not sure he can say _I'm terrified of commitment, and I know I'm going to screw this up somehow so I'm saving us a bunch of time by leaving_.

"Hunting," Dean says and he braces himself for the disappointment or the hurt on Clint's face.

It never comes.

"Okay." Clint rubs the towel through his hair one last time and tosses it into the laundry basket. "How long?"

Dean shrugs. "Not sure yet."

"Okay." Clint drops the towel around his waist and pulls on a pair of briefs. "You'll call and text, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean says, and he's pretty sure he's missing part of this conversation, because Clint doesn't seem angry or upset, he seems accepting. He seems perfectly okay like he was expecting this.

"All right, then." Clint smiles as he tugs his jeans on. "You going to kiss me before you go or just disappear?"

Dean outright gapes at that, and Clint laughs at him before taking pity. "I'm not angry with you. We talked about this. You have your thing, I have mine. As long as you stop by and see me every once in awhile, I'm not going to be angry with you."

And Dean absolutely doesn't know what to do with that, so he grabs Clint's belt loops and tugs until Clint is pressed up against them, and they're kissing, and the warm slide of Clint's mouth against Dean's is almost enough for Dean to reconsider leaving, but he's not some kept boy, and he's not going to accept a job and a place to live even if it means getting to see his incredible boyfriend every day.

"Okay," Dean says pulling back, and he's only slightly out of breath. "I'll keep you updated. And," Dean pauses, swallows his words then forces himself to grit them out. "thank you."

Clint smiles and leans in for one last kiss. "I've been traveling all my life. This is the first permanent base I've had that I intend to live in for months at a time. I'm not sure _I'm_ going to be able to handle it."

Dean nods and walks out the door before he does something stupid like promise to stay. He finds Sam and Cas in the living room, and they both are staring at Dean like they're trying to see into his head.

"Let's see if Bobby has anything for us," Dean says.

* * *

When they reach Bobby's he doesn't seem surprised to see them. He just looks up from his newspaper says, "Well, that lasted a day longer than I thought it would," and points to a list of suspicious activity he's compiled.

"You'd think stopping the apocalypse would've put a dampener on the evil," Sam says, looking down the list. "Our work is never going to be done, is it?"

Dean claps Sam on the shoulder in a 'isn't our life awesome' gesture, but then his fingers curl into Sam's shoulder, digging into his skin, and then Dean's off and running to the bathroom. They can hear him puking a moment later.

"He's hungover?" Bobby asks looking vaguely disapproving.

"Nah, motion sickness from the Angel Express." Sam jerks his thumb towards Cas. "He'll be fine in a few hours, and once he's back in the Impala he'll be more than fine. So, what looks like the biggest threat?"

* * *

They spend the night at Bobby's, because Dean's still feeling sick and because they want to check up on Bobby, and Sam gets to fuss over him which amuses Dean and pisses off (but secretly amuses) Bobby, and Sam makes them all breakfast in the morning before they head out.

"No way," Sam says as Dean goes to put a Metallica cassette in. "It's too early for this shit."

Dean slaps Sam's hand away, harder than necessary. "You did not just refer to Metallica as 'this shit', and I'm not going to listen to Taylor Swift for three hours."

Sam pouts as he flops back into his seat. "I don't listen to Taylor Swift."

"Uh huh."

"I have a cassette," Cas volunteers, passing it forward from the backseat.

Surprised that Cas knows anything about music, Dean reaches back to take it, and then throws it out the window as soon as he sees the title. "We're not listening to Dean Martin."

Cas holds out another. "Frank Sinatra?"

Dean groans and starts hitting his head against the steering wheel, and they almost swerve off the road. "We are not listening to anything your new lover boy might have danced to back in the dark ages."

"Dean," Cas says and he manages to sound long suffering and patient and disappointed all in one syllable. "Steve is not a boy, and he did not grow up in the dark ages, but if you would like to listen to music from that period—"

Dean drowns out whatever Cas was going to say by turning the radio on full volume. _Old Time Rock & Roll_ starts pouring out of the speakers, and Dean drives in silence for the next half hour until Sam starts fidgeting, because he's hungry again. Dean wonders why the hell he thought a road trip would be a good idea.

* * *

They drive up towards North Dakota and stop for the night at a shitty motel that brings back fond memories.

"We should go to the bar," Dean says as they're tucking weapons away in case they're surprised at some point during the night. "Hustle some pool, scare up some cash. We're going to need it."

"We could've accepted the money SHIELD offered us," Sam says, apparently pissy, because they're not staying at a Best Western or a Hilton or eating at a five-star restaurant.

"We're not charity cases," Dean says, stripping out of his worn driving t-shirt and into something a little tighter and a little cleaner. "You coming to the bar or what?"

Sam sighs. "Yeah, yeah. And we're not charity cases. In case you didn't notice, we helped them stop an alien invasion. I think it's perfectly acceptable to take money from them as a thank you."

"You also think it's perfectly acceptable to wear paisley shirts so your opinion doesn't count."

Sam refuses to let the barb get to him. "You have weird hang-ups, you know that?"

Dean shrugs and grabs his wallet and the keys to the Impala. "I saw a shady looking bar a couple miles out. It'll be perfect. Cas, you coming with us?"

Cas shakes his head. "I will be returning to the tower, but I will have my communication device if you need to contact me, and if you are desperate you can always pray, and I will come to you immediately."

"Cell phone," Dean says. "It's called a cell phone."

"Have fun," Sam says, giving Cas a smile even though he's a little jealous that one of them gets to spend the night in a nice bed with good company.

"You want to go with him?" Dean asks. "I could just drive around until I find something and then Cas could spirit you both here to fight."

"Don't be stupid." Sam grabs his jacket from the chair he'd tossed it over. "You'd end up getting yourself beat bloody at the bar without me."

"Yeah, cause you're a real help in a fight." Dean gives Cas a little wave and he and Sam head out to play some pool and maybe even some darts, and Dean feels the itch beneath his skin finally start to settle.

* * *

Sam pokes at his diner salad, at the limp lettuce leaves and the squishy tomatoes and the discolored cucumbers. He and Dean have never lived in luxury, and Sam doesn't want fancy restaurants with wine lists and people who pull out your chairs for you, but he'd like to eat somewhere where he could actually get a fresh salad and where Dean could get a burger that wouldn't instantly clog his arteries.

Dean grins around a mouthful of burger, juice and grease sliding down his chin. Sam looks back to his salad and finds his appetite gone.

"What's up?" Dean asks, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "You missing the spy again?"

They've only been gone for three days, and Dean's started to feel unsettled again, but for a completely different reason. He thinks it's stupid that he could miss Clint, because it isn't like they'd spent a lot of time together, and how do you miss someone you don't even know? He should feel content, because they're texting and calling which is what they always did. He shouldn't miss the warm press of Clint's palm against his when they fall asleep holding hands or the tug of Clint's smile when Dean's done something to amuse him, and he definitely shouldn't miss waking up to the reassuring presence of someone next to him.

Dean shouldn't miss these things, because he never really had them, and he doesn't want to grow dependent. He doesn't want to crave being with another person, because then he's weak, he's tied down, trapped, and Dean can't live like that.

Dean takes another bite of his burger, the burger he paid for with the money he and Sam got from pool, and grins because it tastes like self-sufficiency and freedom, and that's all he's ever wanted.

* * *

Dean's happy world of denial lasts until their first hunt. They're almost out of South Dakota when they stumble upon a nasty spirit and both boys get pretty banged up fighting it. Dean almost crashes the Impala twice on the way back to the motel, because the bones in his right hand are broken and his left hand is cut up and aches, and he's exhausted, because they'd stayed up all night waiting for the spirit to appear and then they actually had to fight it, and it's been a long day.

After the second time they almost drive off the side of the road Cas says, "You're being characteristically stubborn, and I will not deal with it," and he heals the bones in Dean's hand.

Dean frowns, because he doesn't like angel mojo, but his head is a bit clearer, and it's easier to drive so he just grumbles a bit to satisfy his pride.

When they reach the motel, Cas leaves to see soldier boy, and Sam heads into the bathroom to shower. Dean kicks off his boots and collapses in bed, his entire body aching and his left hand throbbing.

He wants to curl up on in a ball and cry because everything hurts, and he wants someone to help him into the shower, because he's disgusting, and he's not sure he can stand on his own two feet, but there's no way he's asking Sam for help. He's the one that takes care of Sam, not the other way around, and Dean suddenly misses Clint more than he has since they left.

Pathetic, Dean thinks, but it doesn't stop him from pulling out his phone. He has to admit, it's much easier to text now that Cas has patched up his hand.

Dean: I miss you

They've been exchanging light hearted texts; Dean's commentary on South Dakota's scenery or Sam's moodiness or how each of the diners they stop at rate in Dean's hierarchy of food. Clint talks about his training or the new agents struggling in the weight room or how rebuilding the city is going.

They haven't said anything heavy like 'I love you' or 'I miss you,' pretty much skirting all emotion, and now Dean's blown that. He's afraid of the fact that he misses Clint. He's afraid that the ache in his chest is going to grow until he has to go back to Manhattan, and Dean doesn't like having to do anything. He wants to go, sure, but he's stronger than his wants, and he can't let his mind or his emotions control him.

If he goes back to SHIELD it's going to be on his own terms. He just has to figure those out.

Clint: I miss you too

No demands, no insistence that Dean comes back, just a simple admission. Dean's doesn't deserve Clint. Clint's too good for him.

Dean: Had to put down the spirit of an Indian chief. It was shitty  
Clint: Oglala Lakota?  
Dean: How did you know the tribe?  
Clint: You were in South Dakota so it was pretty good guess. Was it messy?  
Dean: He was powerful. Knocked us around pretty good, and we pissed of a bunch of descendants for digging up their ancestor's bones, but it was that or let an entire town die  
Clint: Cas says you didn't want him healing you  
Dean: Cas talks too much. Also, he only has so much power at a time. I don't want him to waste it on stupid shit in case we stumble across something major  
Clint: Your wellbeing is not stupid shit or a waste.  
Dean: I let him fix my hand  
Clint: He fixed your hand after you almost crashed. Twice.  
Dean: Cas talks too much  
Clint: And you're stubborn  
Dean: Hey, aren't you the one who is notorious for avoiding medical? You have no room to judge  
Clint: You hunt evil for a living. It would be a shame for you to die in such a mundane way as a car crash  
Dean: I'll take better care of myself. Promise. Goodnight  
Clint: Goodnight.

Dean flips his phone shut, and he's asleep before Sam gets out of the shower.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Same as the last story, there's a warning for strong language throughout, and I'll warn for more specific things on the chapters that they happen. Also, I messed with Season 4 Canon so to clear a few things up: Ruby and Lilith are dead, but Dean tortured Ruby and not Alastair so Alastair is still alive and ruining people's lives.

* * *

They run into their first demon in North Dakota. Bobby calls them and reports all the signs and from there it isn't hard to track the thing down. What they're not expecting is to find the demon pacing beneath a devil's trap, and a man in a chair staring it down.

"Well this is awkward," Dean says as man and demon spin towards them. The demon hisses, the man pulls a gun.

"Are you serious?" Sam grumbles but he holds his hands up in a surrender gesture. "We're here to kill the demon."

The man rolls his eyes and takes another gun out so he can have one pointed at Dean and one at Sam. Dean wonders what he'll do if Cas shows up. "There's nothing for you to do. Too powerful to be exorcised so I'm waiting for my buddy to get back with a stronger exorcism."

"We can give you one right now," Dean says. He jerks his head towards Sam. "Kid's an encyclopedia of exorcisms."

Sam scowls. "I'm not a kid."

"Or," Dean completely ignores Sam's comment, "I can call up our angel friend to kill him."

"You know an angel?" The man looks disbelieving.

The demon's eyes widen, its first sign of fear. "Winchesters," it hisses.

Dean grins and nudges Sam. "Hey look, we're famous now. Guess that's a side effect of putting an end to Lucifer's grand plans." Dean directs his attention back to the man. "So, I'm sure you figured it out, but I'm Dean Winchester and this is Sam."

The man glares over the barrels of his guns. "You're the Winchesters?"

Dean flashes a smile and hopes that if this guy's a hunter, he's forgotten that Sam is rumored to be the antichrist and hopes he hasn't heard that the apocalypse Sam and Dean had ended was actually started by Dean or this conversation might take a turn for the worse.

"Jack," he finally says but doesn't lower the guns. "Hunter. You can really take this thing out?"

"If it's weak enough to be held by a devil's trap then we can kill it." Dean doesn't mention the Colt or Ruby's knife, because he's afraid the hunter will try and steal them from him. "And hopefully we can rescue the vessel in the process."

Jack's attention shifts to Sam. "You're the demon pet."

"Not anymore. We killed Azazel who was the demon who marked me. I'm free of their influence." He doesn't mention the blood addiction, because that won't help his case even though he's off of that too thanks to some divine intervention. Apparently it was his reward for putting an end to the apocalypse. He still hasn't found out what Dean got, but knowing his brother, Dean isn't going to talk about it.

"You're never free," the demon rasps, grinning at Dean's glare. "You've had their blood. You're marked for life."

Jack cocks the gun. "You're running on demon blood?"

Cas appears in a ruffle of feathers, and in an instant he has two guns trained on him. "Sam Winchester is free of the corruption now." He stares down Jack until the hunter starts to shift, uncomfortable. "I am Castiel, and I will destroy the demon you have captured if you cease threatening the Winchesters."

"Shit," Jack breathes and he looks over at Dean. "This your angel friend?"

Dean grins and shoves his hands in his pockets, deciding that the danger is over now. "Yep. This is Cas. Now, why don't you let Cas gank him, and we can grab a beer, and we can swap stories."

"First round is on you."

"Of course."

Jack returns his guns to their holsters, Cas approaches the demon.

"The days are numbered for your kind," Cas says, placing a hand on the demon's forehead.

The demon laughs even as he struggles against his bonds, trying to escape Cas's hand. "Our ranks swell with the corruption of the human race."

"You will be defeated." Cas closes his eyes and pulls the demon out of the young man's body. Once the demon is black smoke in the air, Cas extinguishes it, and the young man slumps over, exhausted from the possession.

"You're supposed to catch him before he hits the ground, Cas," Dean reminds, but there's no real reproach in his voice. They just saved the guy from death via possession. He can handle a few bruises from falling to the ground.

"I will transport him to a hospital," Cas says. "Text me the address of the bar you are going to, and I will meet you there."

"An angel in a bar?" Jack asks as Cas scoops the young man up and vanishes. "Now that's something I want to see."

"You really don't," Dean says as they head out to where the Impala's parked. "He can't get drunk, and he has no social skills, but it's funny to watch him be oblivious to the women who flirt with him."

Jack grins as he stops in front of his car, a beat up Chevy. "Otters is just down the road. I'll drive slow enough for you to keep up."

That sounds like a challenge, and Dean's more than happy to rise to the bait. "My baby can handle anything you've got." He gives the Impala a loving stroke, and Jack's grin widens. Sam groans and wonders why he'd agreed to this trip.

* * *

The bar is small, full of locals since it's only four in the afternoon, and the bartender, a gruff old man gives Jack a nod when he comes in with Dean and Sam. They take a table in the back, and they're into their second beers when Cas appears between Sam and Dean.

Jack jumps and chokes a little on his beer.

"Cas," Dean sighs. "Remember what we talked about? Not scaring the shit out of people with your angel teleportation?"

Cas frowns. "It's not teleportation, it's flying. I'm simply too fast for your human mind to comprehend."

"Modest bunch angels are," Jack says.

"And he's one of the better ones," Dean says. He takes a pull off his beer. "So, possessee going to be okay?"

"He will recover from his injuries, but the mental damage will take longer to overcome. I do not have any personal experience with being possessed by a demon, but I have been told that it is traumatizing."

Sam picks at the label on his beer. "So, Jack, I've got something that might interest you." He digs his phone out of his pocket, the latest Stark phone model, which isn't even commercially available yet, and Jack immediately looks interested. "Not the phone; though, you're going to want to get a smart phone."

Sam fiddles with it for a moment and then slides it across the table. Jack frowns at the screen.

"What is this?"

"It's a secure site that is going to compile information on the supernatural." Sam hits the link to exorcisms, and there are links to different level demons. "I don't have all the exorcisms up yet, but that's my priority right now. With this, you'll not only have the exorcism on hand, but I'm going to record them so you can play it."

Disbelief and awe war on Jack's face as he stares at the phone. Dean hadn't known this is what Sam's been up to, but once he's done being shocked, he feels a swell of pride for his younger brother.

Sam scribbles something on a napkin and hands it over to Jack. "This is my email address. If you have the time, I want all of your notes on the supernatural, what's definitely true, what you've heard from reliable sources, and what might be true. I want to make this as comprehensive as possible so that any hunter can go here, and find the tools he or she needs to fight."

"A lot of them will be wary of this," Jack says as he tucks the napkin into his pocket. "They've gotten used to doing things on their own, and the Winchesters aren't exactly popular."

Sam shrugs. "Well, I'm putting it together, and if they want to use it they can, and if they don't want to then they don't have to. What about Bobby? Do people trust him?"

"Of course we do."

Sam nods. "Good. Pass onto anyone you know that if they see suspicious signs to let Bobby know. He's going to be keeping track so he knows where to send us, and so we can try and have a big picture image so the apocalypse doesn't sneak up on us again."

"Trying to organize hunters is only going to give you a headache," Jack says, "but I'll let people know."

Sam nods and takes his phone back. "Good. Email me your information as you type it up, and I'll send you the info you need to access the database. The more organized we can get the better. Right, Dean?"

"Sure." Dean takes a small sip of his beer and checks his phone. No messages. Not like he'd really expected a response to 'so turns out my brother's kind of genius,' and it's only been a minute. He ignores the voice in his head that said if he was in Manhattan with Clint then they could have instantaneous conversations, but if he was in Manhattan right now then he wouldn't have killed the demon today, and it could've wrecked dozens of lives.

"Another drink?" A brunette with a bright smile and pouty lips pauses at their table, her smile brightening when she lays eyes on Cas. "I see you don't have anything. I could get you something special." She leans in, and Dean briefly notes that he could stare down her shirt if he wanted to, but he doesn't.

"I am all set but thank you," Cas says and he misses the waitress's frown as he looks at Dean's beer, gauging the amount left. "Do you want another? I can sober you up before you need to drive if you wish to continue drinking."

Dean smiles at the waitress as an apology for Cas's slight, because Cas probably sounds crazy right now. "Could I just have a Sprite?"

"Of course." She stares at Cas for a moment longer, hoping to catch his eye, but Cas doesn't look away from Dean so she huffs and goes back to get Dean's drink.

"You weren't kidding," Jack says. "He really had no idea she was flirting with him."

Dean shakes his head and finishes his beer. Dean's mostly drinking the beer because it's a post-hunt tradition for him. He's not in the mood to get drunk right now. First of all, it isn't even five yet, and he refuses to be hammered before five. Second of all, there's no point. There isn't anyone in here he's trying to pick up, and he doesn't want to wake up and drive with a hangover tomorrow, and it's a waste of Cas's mojo to sober Dean up.

Jack nudges Cas to get his attention. "She was trying to pick you up."

Cas's face wrinkles in confusion. "Pick me up? I thought she was talking to me. And she would have had to move Sam out of the way before she could have picked me up. I am not sure she would have managed it."

Dean grins into his empty beer.

"Wow," Jack says. "Angels are idiots."

Dean nods. "Yep."

"She was looking to take you out back," Jack tries again, but Cas doesn't look any more enlightened.

"What is out back? Is there danger? Does she need assistance?"

"She wanted to get in your pants, Cas," Dean says, taking pity on Jack. "You know, sex?"

"Oh." Understanding washes over Cas's face. "I would have declined her even if I had realized that was her intention. I already have a sexual partner."

Dean groans and drops his head to his hands.

"Really?" Jack looks from Cas's pleased face to Dean's embarrassment. "You're banging an angel?"

"What?" Dean's head snaps up. "No. No. Absolutely not." He looks at Cas, blushes, and looks back at the table. Sam snickers.

"I am with Steve," Cas says, unruffled by the conversation. "You may know him as Captain America."

"Well, shit," Dean says as Jack's eyes widen.

"Captain America?" Jack looks to Dean for confirmation. "Captain America is banging an angel? Are you sure you stopped the apocalypse, because this is some weird shit."

"He finds my angelic strength to be sexually arousing," Cas says.

Dean wishes he'd asked for a double shot of tequila instead of a Sprite, because this is going to be a long night.

* * *

Dean's climbing underneath the motel's itchy comforter when his phone buzzes.

Clint: Genius? Are you drunk? You never say nice things about your brother  
Dean: He's working to archive all the information we can gather on the supernatural for easy access. Think we might have even found a hunter to contribute  
Clint: You found another hunter?  
Dean: Found him trying to exorcise a demon that was too powerful for his exorcism. Helped him out. Had a few drinks. Got mentally scarred by Cas.  
Clint: Busy day  
Dean: Yeah. How was yours?

Dean had planned on going to bed early, because they wanted to get an early start on the road, and he hadn't wanted to drive tired, but he wants to hear about Clint's day. He tells himself he's only going to stay up for another fifteen minutes, so he can get the rough outline of Clint's day.

Fifteen minutes turns into an hour.

* * *

They drive up to North Dakota and spend the night in a motel before hitting the local library. Sam, Dean, and Cas split up to look at the area's newspapers, and check the library archives for any signs of strange occurrences in the area.

Dean's reading an article about how pets have been going missing; two cats, one rabbit, three hermit crabs, and a toad, and he's trying to decide whether that's something to actually be worried about or if this town just has too many young kids with animals when his phone buzzes.

Clint: You on the road?  
Dean: No. You need to call?

Dean tries to stay calm, because a phone call doesn't mean that something's wrong; though, he has a hard time convincing himself of that, because they'd talked a lot last night, pretty much gone through a play-by-play of each of their days so there can't be any idle chit chat left. Something's happened.

Dean grabs his phone and the newspaper he's reading and heads outside so he doesn't get dirty looks from the librarian for talking on his phone in the quiet section.

His phone starts ringing as soon as he settles himself on the bench.

"What's happened?" Dean asks, answering.

"Everything's fine. I just wanted to let you know that I'm going on a mission."

"Already?"

There's a moment of silence and when Clint talks, his voice is clipped. "Yes. Already. You think it's too soon too?"

"I thought they'd give you a vacation after saving the Earth, but I guess SHIELD has ops going on all over the world."

"They're not benching me, and I don't want to be benched."

Clint sounds pissed, and Dean has the feeling that they're having two different conversations, because Dean doesn't think he's said anything that deserves this level of hostility. "I didn't say anything about benching. Why would they bench you?"

Another silence. "That whole mind control, turning on my own people thing?"

Oh. Dean rolls his eyes, because he's already told Clint in every way possible that he doesn't blame Clint for the mind control or what he did under it, and he thinks Clint's stupid for blaming himself.

"That wasn't your fault."

"I was compromised."

"Clearly SHIELD doesn't think you are anymore since they're sending you out. Where are you headed?"

"West," Clint answers. "It's a straightforward mission. I shouldn't even be in danger."

Dean translates that in his head. He doesn't have any idea where Clint is going, but he's not supposed to and that's fine, but the rest of it tells him that Clint's in sniper mode this time, not spy mode or explosives mode.

"How long?"

"Shouldn't take more than a week. I'll have phone access for most of it so I'll keep you updated. Where are you guys now?"

"North Dakota. Fargo," Dean adds, because North Dakota's a big state, and Dean doesn't have any reason for secrecy. "Just doing some routine investigation."

"Anything turn up?"

Dean looks back at the newspaper article on his lap. "I've found some stuff on missing pets. Not sure if they're just missing or if there's some sort of animal sacrifice thing going on. I hope they're just missing, because animal sacrifice often means witches, and I hate witches."

Clint laughs, a low chuckle that makes Dean's insides curl with warmth. "I'm sure you'll make them more miserable than they make you."

"Last time they were some crazy suburban chicks who had a skewed idea of book club. They made people's teeth fall out. Witches are bad news."

"Well, it sounds like North Dakota will keep you nice and busy. You probably won't even make it out of there before I'm back."

"North Dakota isn't that interesting. Besides, if we start encroaching on other hunters' territory too much they'll get pissy. We'll poke around here for a few days, head to Bismarck then probably peace out."

"Still," Clint says. "A week in each state will add up pretty fast."

Almost a year, Dean thinks, and the thought of being away from Clint for an entire year makes Dean's chest constrict in a painful and entirely unwelcome way. "Maybe we'll split up the trip. The whole US in one go is kind of daunting. Plus, I'm getting old. These motel beds are shit on my back."

Dean thinks he can feel Clint smiling through the phone. "Well, I have to go double check my packing job. We head out tonight, and Nat wants to kick my ass in the gym before I go. She's been texting Sam, you know."

"She has?" This is news to Dean. "What the hell do they have to talk about?"

"No idea. Don't really want to know. I keep out of her personal business and she keeps out of mine."

"Is she going west with you?"

"Nah. Coming out as the Avengers has hurt her more than me. She's lying low for a bit. We're kind of hoping some of her enemies will try and take her out at the tower so we can get rid of them, but I don't think any of them are that dumb."

"Will you be safe?"

"As safe as I ever am. Let me know how the witches pan out."

"Course. Bye."

They hang up, and Dean picks up the newspaper and heads inside to find Sam and Cas. He finds Cas chatting with the librarian, an older woman who looks absolutely charmed by him. They're talking about the town, and because Cas is an angel and a cheater, he actually knows about the people in town so he's gossiping about the Millers when Dean comes up to him.

"Hello, Dean." Cas turns his smile on Dean, and the librarian glares at him for stealing Cas's attention. "Miss Lawrence" "Call me Maggie, dear" "Maggie was telling me that the men in this town are uncommonly unfaithful."

Awesome, Dean thinks. Unfaithful men and missing pets? That sounds like a recipe for witches. Dean understands getting pissed off when your husband or boyfriend cheats on you, but he feels like that occasion calls for public humiliation or slashing his tires, not making deals with demons and practicing black magic.

"Why don't we go find Sammy, then? With his dimples, he's going to make the women unfaithful and then what will this town do?"

Cas gives Dean's his 'I'm an angel of the Lord' disappointed frown. "Adultery is not something to be taken lightly, Dean."

"Right. Apologies." Dean doesn't want to get into a discussion of the Ten Commandments so he grabs Cas's arm and starts to pull him away. "Let's go find Sam anyways. I'm hungry."

"Perhaps if you ate food that was higher in nutritional value you would not have to eat as often as you do."

Dean can't believe Cas is giving him a lecture on eating right. He doesn't bother getting into an argument with him, because Dean never wins, and instead he heads towards the computers which is where he last saw Sam.

All of the computer terminals are empty, and Dean tamps down his immediate panic that Sam's been kidnapped, because while witches are crafty, he doesn't think they've stooped so low as to snatch people from libraries.

Dean looks around the computers, looks around again, and it debating whether or not to just start shouting Sam's name to see if he answers when he hears a high-pitched giggle from the reference stacks.

Dean is willing to bet that Sam's managed to charm some girl behind the stacks. He's also willing to go interrupt whatever it is they're doing, not because he's a bad brother, but because he's a good one. He's trying to stop Sam from cheating on an assassin, because that will end with him very dead, and if anyone's going to kill Sam it's going to be Dean.

Dean tugs on the sleeve of Cas's trench coat and drags him towards the stacks, ignoring the girl with the bridal magazine that's smirking at him. He considers flipping her off, but he doesn't want to get kicked out of the library, because that's embarrassing so he just heads into the bookcases and hopes that Sam's actually back here.

Sam's there, leaning up against a bookcase, talking to a bright eyed girl with a long brown ponytail and _Family Law_ clutched in her arms. She's looking up at Sam with stars in her eyes, and Dean wants to roll his eyes or tell her to piss off, but Sam gives him a warning look so Dean turns on his most charming smile.

"Hey Sam," Dean says and he thinks he should get points for calling him Sam instead of Sammy.

Sam pretends to be surprised when he sees Dean and Cas, and the girl pretends not to be disappointed.

"Hey." Sam smiles and motions to the girl. "This is Elise. She's a 2L. Wants to go into family law."

"Really? Is that why she has a family law textbook?"

He gets a dirty look from Sam, a crushed look from Elise, and a disapproving one from Cas. Dean sighs. "Sorry. That was rude. It's nice to meet you Elise, I'm Dean."

"Elise was telling me about her friend Charlotte's boy saga."

"Acquaintance," Elise interrupts. "She's an acquaintance."

"Ah," Dean says like he has any idea what the difference between acquaintance and friend is.

"Charlotte's been cheated on a lot," Sam summarizes for which Dean is grateful, because if he had to stand here and listen to the play by play he'd probably claw his ears out. He's still not quite sure why he's hearing about Charlotte's love life in the first place, but he has a bad feeling it's related to the pets and the infidelity that's plaguing the town.

"But now she has Mikey," Elise gushes, and she gives Dean a smile full of white teeth and envy. "He's perfect. Does everything she wants. Apparently he's good in bed," Elise blushes a delicate pink at this. "He even cooks and then does the dishes!"

"What a guy," Dean deadpans. Sam shoots him another dirty look.

"And not to sound mean or anything, but," Elise looks around and then leans in, "Charlotte's not even that pretty. No one can understand why he's with her. Marcy bets she's betwitched him with sex."

Dean feels his last bit of hope shrivel up. They're definitely dealing with witches. Or at the very least, witch singular.

"Hey," Elise says, suddenly shy as she nudges Sam with her elbow. "Marcy's having a party tonight. Charlotte and Mikey and everyone's going to be there. Mikey's a 3L. He's already got a job lined up."

"We would love to go," Sam says. "Wouldn't we?"

Dean plasters a fake smile on his face. "Would love nothing more."

Cas looks disappointed. "Did you say tonight? Does that mean I have to cancel my plans for sexual congress?"

Dean slaps a hand to his forehead. "Sexual congress is not any better than sexual intercourse. Actually, it's worse. Why can't you talk like a normal person and just say sex? Or that you're going to bang?"

Cas looks thoughtful for a moment. "I could say fornicate?"

"Now you're being obnoxious on purpose," Dean says. Cas's face remains carefully blank. "Ugh, you're impossible!"

Elise unsuccessfully hides her smile behind her hand. "So I'll see you guys at 10?" She hands Sam a slip of paper. "That's the address." She disappears with a flounce of her ponytail.

"So," Dean says once it's the three of them. "We're going to law school party?"

Sam shrugs. "Something sounds off about Charlotte."

Dean holds up his newspaper and points to the article about missing pets. "That's because I think there is."

Sam scans the article and groans. "Witches? Really?"

"I know, man, I know."


	3. Chapter 3

Warnings: sex spell, Dean angst, and a brief, non-graphic sex scene

A/N: Also, I posted the wrong chapter initially! I'm so sorry. This is what I get for posting two stories at once.

* * *

Sam spends an hour getting ready for a party that means nothing, because he's kind of dating someone already. Dean points this out while Sam is fussing with his hair, when Sam is debating which shirt to wear, and when Sam is staring at his cologne, debating how much to put on.

"I'm not trying to impress anyone," Sam says irritably. "I just have pride in my appearance." He gives Dean's dirty jeans and ragged shirt a judgmental look.

"I have a boyfriend," Dean says. "I don't care what I look like."

"Yeah, a boyfriend you've run halfway across the country to avoid moving in with."

"Really?" Dean asks even as he pulls out his cell phone to see if Clint has responded to his panicked 'save me, Sam is dragging me to a college party' text. He hasn't. Dean tries not to feel too disappointed. "We're having this conversation now?"

Sam shrugs and runs another hand through his hair, trying to make it look disheveled instead of just unkempt. He needs a haircut. "We have to have it at some point."

"No we don't." Dean shoves his phone back into his pocket and grabs the keys to the Impala.

"Dean!"

"I should've sent you back to the tower with Cas," Dean says and storms out the motel door. He's giving Sam five minutes to follow him or he's leaving without him.

"You'd never do that," Sam says, sliding into the passenger seat and smelling like he belonged at Abercrombie & Fitch. Dean wonders why his brother is such a loser. "Because then you'd have to fight the witch all on your own."

"You didn't deny that Natasha's your girlfriend," Dean says, drastically changing the conversation. "You two that serious?"

Sam crosses his arms over his chest. "I thought you didn't want to talk about feelings."

Dean grins, getting his answer and revenge all in one. "I don't. Just making sure you didn't want to either."

"After this hunt is over I'm going back to Manhattan," Sam huffs.

"No you're not," Dean says, voice way too calm for all the panic!panic!panic! happening inside his head.

"No," Sam agrees after a moment. "I'm not."

* * *

The party is at someone's house, and it's a lot milder than Dean had expected. Women were in skirts and blouses instead of minis and tank tops, and people were drinking wine out of actual wine glasses instead of doing keg stands, and Dean's extremely disappointed. He'd been hoping for a college party out of the movies.

The living room isn't crowded so it doesn't take Elise long to find them. She's in a pair of trouser jeans and a deep purple top, and she offers Sam a smile and glass of wine when she sees him and completely ignores Dean.

Dean pretends he doesn't care and wanders into the next room, because he can hear the TV and maybe something good is on. On the way, he texts Clint.

Dean: Party is lame. There's wine. And not from a box. How's the west?

A girl with too much eyeliner and purple eye shadow sidles up next to Dean, and he can't help but note that she looks like she's trying too hard, and she tugs at the bottom of her pencil skirt like she's uncomfortable, but she lets it go a moment later, self-conscious. "I haven't seen you around before. Who are you with?"

Dean looks back towards the other room. Elise and Sam are leaning in, probably talking, but it could be anything from this angle. He shrugs as he turns back to the young woman in front of him. "Doesn't really matter. I'm here for the," Dean looks at the fancy wine in the fancy glasses and tries not to gag, "I'm just here."

"I'm Charlotte." She smiles, too bright, and holds a hand out.

Dean shakes it and tries not to flinch. He's touching a witch, and he's going to be fine. He's touching a witch, and he's going to be fine. "Dean." He forces a smile. "You a student?"

"3L," she says, proud and confident. "Already have a job lined up for when I pass the bar."

"When?" Dean nods, impressed. "You certainly aren't lacking belief in your abilities."

Her lips curve up into a smile that Dean might have found attractive if he didn't have a boyfriend and he didn't know she was a witch. She leans into him, the back of her hand brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt, and Dean takes a step back.

"Uh, that wasn't a come on," Dean says, because he wants to make it very clear he has no interest in her. If she really is the witch that's obsessed with fidelity then Dean doesn't want her thinking that he's willing to cheat on Clint or that he's trying to get her away from her boyfriend. Of course, he's not quite sure that turning a witch down will end well for him either.

She pouts, and her bottom lip glistens with lip gloss and wine, and Dean really wishes he'd skipped this party. "So you're lacking belief in my abilities?" She slides into his personal space. "Sure I can't bolster your faith?" She slides a hand down his chest, and Dean takes another hurried step back.

"Okay," he says casting about for a way out. "I'm very much spoken for." His back is pressed flat against the wall, and he hopes she doesn't come any closer, because he's not sure where to run.

Thankfully, she looks surprised rather than angry. "Loyalty? From a man? Isn't this surprising."

Dean shrugs as his mind screams escape!escape!escape! He wonders if it's too dangerous to turn and run from a witch. But, they came here to find the witch, and he's found her so really he should bring her to Sam and decide what they're supposed to do with her.

"I'm a pretty special guy." Dean grins and motions to the other room. "I also should track down my brother before he does something stupid."

Charlotte peers into the other room and she frowns. "Do you mean Elise? She's very stupid. I hope your brother doesn't do her."

Dean's pretty sure they've just landed in the middle of some weird cat fight that's been escalated by the presence of witches. He hates everything. He pulls out his phone.

Dean: I hate everything. Girls are stupid. Witches are worse. I wish I was blowing things up.

"Well," Dean shrugs and tries to figure his way out of this one as he tucks his phone back into his pocket. "I'm almost positive he's not going to do anything with her."

Dean's turning to walk away when Charlotte shoots out a hand to grab Dean's wrist. He pauses and glares at her hand, wanting to pull away, but still hesitant to piss her off. He doesn't want to get body swapped with anyone at this party or turned into a turtle or, you know, die a supremely painful death.

"She's pretty and willing," Charlotte says, her nails digging into Dean's skin, and he rips his hand away, because he doesn't want her getting his blood underneath her nails or he'll really be screwed.

"He has someone," Dean says and walks away. She's officially been creepy enough that he can leave. He realizes a moment too late that he's just told a witch with fidelity issues that his brother has a girlfriend and that Sam looks like he's one eyelash flutter away from going to an empty room with Elise.

"Damn it," Dean mutters as Charlotte slips through the crowd of people and heads straight for Sam. Dean chases after her, and he's waving frantically to Sam, trying to get his attention, but he's laughing at something Elise has said, and not paying attention at all.

"Sam!" Dean calls, cutting through the chatter and the low volume music.

Sam looks up in time to see Charlotte coming towards him, and he takes a step back, but Charlotte grabs his hair and pulls before running off, and Dean pauses in the middle of the room, ignoring everyone that's staring at him, because a witch now has Sam's hair. Shit.

Sam's face drains of color as he comes to the same realization, and without needing to speak both brothers head out towards the Impala.

"Shit," Dean says once they're clear of the party. "Shit!"

"What the hell did you say to her?" Sam demands. "Why did she come after me?"

"She's a girl who's been cheated on repeatedly, and you're a guy that looked like he was about to cheat. Why the hell do you think she came after you?"

"Right." Sam rubs his on his jeans. "Okay. What do we do? Is she going to kill me? I hope she doesn't kill me. I wasn't even going to do anything with Elise! We were talking! She's a law student, I wanted to be a law student. A guy can talk to girl without wanting to get in her pants! Damn it." Sam tugs on his hair and thinks again that he needs to get it cut. Maybe shaved so no more witches can steal his hair.

"We need to find out where she lives," Dean says. "And then we need to go in with a plan to kill her. You are going to go charm Elise and find out where Charlotte lives, and I'm going to load up the Colt."

"You're going to shoot her with the Colt?" Sam asks. "Isn't that overkill?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot. She's a witch meaning she's making a deal with a demon. We bust in there looking to gank her, and I bet she calls him up for protection. Maybe I should call Cas in. Use the Colt as a last resort."

"Don't bring the Colt at all," Sam says. "Just bring the knife. Colt's only for emergencies. You call Cas, I'll talk to Elise, and I'll meet you out here in ten minutes."

Dean nods and resists the urge to shove Sam in the direction of the party. He digs his phone out—still no text from Clint—and calls Cas who is speed dial three. It goes Clint, Bobby, Cas, Sam, and Sam had thrown a fit when he found out even though Dean pointed out that the two of them were almost always together so there was no point in having Sam high up on his speed dial, but apparently Sam was angry about the meaning behind the gesture. Whatever.

"Hello, Dean. Has something happened?"

"It's about to," Dean says. "Sam pissed off a witch, and she has his hair."

"That is a problem. Would you like me to come to your location?"

No, Dean thinks, I called you to say things were shitty so you could stay there. He takes a deep breath and drags a hand down his face. It isn't Cas's fault that things have gone wrong, and they're not really Sam's fault.

"Yes. We're at 21 Beech Road. I'm by the Impala. And—"

"So am I."

Dean spins around to see Cas standing on the other side of the car, his cell phone held up to his ear. Dean's never going to get used to angel teleportation. He turns off his phone and jams it back into his pocket.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," Dean says.

"I was watching a film called _Charlie's Angels_ with Tony, but it was a misleading title, because the three women are not angels. It was no trouble to come here and assist you."

"Right." Dean feels a headache coming on. He's too old for all this shit. There's a reason hunters die early. Their lifestyle is exhausting and overwhelming and at one point they've had enough or they just can't keep up anymore.

"You are agitated." Cas lays a hand on Dean's shoulder, and it's soothing, a reminder that Dean isn't alone.

"Yeah, well, I don't know what this witch is going to do. I don't want to lose my brother."

"I have faith that you will stop her before serious harm befalls Sam."

Dean sometimes wonders when Cas will realize that his faith in Dean is misplaced. Dean's the one who got Sam into this mess, blabbing to a witch about Sam's personal life, and if anything happens to Sam, Dean isn't going to forgive himself. His hand reaches into his jacket so he can wrap his fingers around the hilt of Ruby's knife. It makes him feel better, ready, all he needs now is an address, and he's going to make this better.

Sam stumbles out to the Impala thirteen minutes later. Two more, and Dean was going to go in after him. Sam's shirt is rumpled and half-tucked into his jeans, and his face is flushed, and next to Dean, Cas goes completely still.

"What the hell?" Dean asks, because the last thing he needs is Cas acting all weird too.

"34a Chestnut Street," Sam says, and he squeezes his eyes tight, and his hands grab two fistfuls of his hair and pull hard enough that he winces.

"What the hell?" Dean repeats.

"The witch's spell," Cas says, and there are twin spots of red on his cheeks. "I believe I know what is ailing Sam."

Dean waits for more, but it isn't coming. Cas steps back from Sam like Sam's got some kind of infectious disease which is ridiculous, because as far as Dean knows, angels can't catch human diseases.

"Anyone want to fill me in?" Dean asks. "Because I'd like to go and take care of this witch, but that's just my personal preference."

"He is sexually aroused," Cas says, and Sam makes a pitiful sound in the back of his throat, and Dean wishes that his life was at least a little bit normal. "To the point of distraction. It is the only thing he can think of and," Cas pauses and looks like he's bracing himself, "and it is distracting."

Dean runs through facts in his head. His little brother's on witch Viagra and is useless, and his guardian angel appears to be experiencing second-hand arousal which is disturbing on way too many levels to think about. Which means Dean is on his own.

"All right." Dean turns to Cas, because Sam is freaking him out. "Do the forehead thing and put him to sleep. Send him back to the tower and stay with him and make sure he stays asleep unless the spell affects you while he's sleeping. In which case, lock him in a room with lots of lotion."

Cas nods but he eyes Sam warily like he doesn't want to get any closer to him. "What will you do?"

Dean walks over to the driver's side of the Impala. "I'm going to go break the spell."

* * *

When Dean gets to Charlotte's house, a small duplex with a recently cut lawn and neatly trimmed hedges, he has a text from Cas.

Cas: This is Steve. Cas is sick. Do you need help? He says he'd probably be able to send me to you.

Dean takes a moment to marvel at the fact that Captain America is offering to help him with a hunt before texting back.

Dean: I'll be fine. Will breaking the spell fix Cas?  
Cas: He says he needs to be purified. Do you know what that means?  
Dean: Tell him to get his ass to heaven and come back once he's better.  
Dean hesitates before sending another text.  
Dean: Will you keep an eye on Sam?  
Cas: He's with Natasha, but if you want me to go I can.  
Dean: No, that's fine. Didn't want him to be alone. Time to gank a bitch.  
Cas: Don't you mean witch?  
Dean: Cute.

Satisfied that everyone's being taken care of, Dean shoves his phone into his pocket and goes to find Charlotte. Cas is going to be fine once he's done with angel detox, and Sam will be fine as long as Dean breaks the spell.

The door front door is unlocked, but that's where Dean's good luck ends, because as soon as he's shut the door, the lights flick on, and he's face to face with a tall, broad shouldered dude that looks like he trains for the WWE as a hobby.

"You must be Mikey," Dean says and he contemplates whipping out Ruby's knife, but this is just a guy who's been put under a witch's spell so he's an innocent, and Dean's hesitant to kill him.

He regrets his brief moment of compassion when Mikey grabs Dean's arm in a bruising grip and hauls him towards a set of stairs that lead towards the basement.

"My love isn't expecting visitors," Mikey says as they start down the stairs.

"Your love?" Dean tries wriggling out of Mikey's grasp, but it does nothing except hurt so he stops. He'll make his move once he's in the basement. Where there's a witch and possibly a demon. He needs to start coming up with better plans. "You realize she's mind controlling you, right?"

Dean doesn't see the hit coming, but suddenly his face is stinging so he knows he's been slapped. Damn, the guy packs a wallop. Dean makes a mental note to stop pissing off the strong dude.

"I love Charlotte, and I will do anything for her. I'll never leave her."

"Right, because that's healthy." Dean works his jaw, relieved that it still works even if it's a bit sore.

They reach the bottom of the stairs, and Dean hears something that he really hopes isn't what he thinks. There's a breathy moan, the slick sound of skin slapping skin, and then he's shoved into a room, and he screws his eyes shut.

"Holy shit!" he shouts. "Give a guy some warning!" Charlotte's definitely having sex, and he's willing to bet that the dude she's doing it with is the demon. "Also, this is a little hypocritical, don't you think, Charlotte? You're all 'I hate cheaters so I'm going to curse them,' but you're banging a dude in your basement while your boyfriend plays watchdog?"

There's a long pause, and Dean cracks an eye open. Charlotte is a glistening sweaty mess on the floor, and her eye shadow is smudged and her hair is falling out of its ponytail and even with hickeys blooming on her neck and scratch marks on her chest, she still manages to look menacing as she glares at Dean.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Winchester," the demon hisses.

Dean wishes he and Sam weren't quite so popular in the evil underworld. Also, he really wants the guy to put some clothes on, because he has no desire to see demon junk.

Dean carefully keeps his eyes on the demon's face which isn't really any better, because his eyes are ink black, and his lips are wet with blood, and Dean can feel his stomach turn. "You want to put some pants on now that sexy time is over?"

"He interrupted the ritual," Charlotte says, crossing her arms over her chest, and it takes Dean a moment to realize that she's pouting. "I want him dead."

Mikey's right hand buries itself in Dean's hair and his left hand grabs Dean's shoulder, and Dean wonders if this guy is about to snap his neck.

"Stop," the demon commands and Mikey goes still. "Charlotte, do you know who our guest is?"

Talking is good, Dean thinks, mind running through possibilities. Talking means that he isn't dead and that means that he can figure out how to escape. Sam is in Manhattan and useless. Cas is in heaven, and if he's in a healing cycle then he probably won't respond to Dean's prayers. Which means it's Dean against a witch, a demon, and a mind controlled roid abuser. Awesome. At least he has Ruby's knife. He just needs to get into a position where he can stab and not miss, because he's only going to get one shot at this.

Charlotte rolls her eyes looking bored. "I cast a curse on his brother." She flashes Dean a mocking smile. "He enjoying his present?" She checks her watch. "Not for much longer. He's probably going to start chafing soon. He'll welcome death when it comes."

Dean goes still and the demon laughs.

"You are stupid, but sometimes idiots even stumble upon something good," the demon says and he turns black eyes on Dean. "You and your brother are well acquainted with that concept."

Dean fakes a yawn. "Can we get on with things? You obviously know me, but you're too low on hell's rungs for me to know you."

The demon's lips split into a terrifying smile. "Not for long. I'm going to be responsible for the deaths of the Winchester brothers."

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself," Dean says. Mikey's fingers are a dull ache digging into his flesh. He's definitely going to be bruised tomorrow. If he makes it to tomorrow.

The demon shakes his head. "Your brother had an hour from the start of the spell to engage his girlfriend and the girl he was cheating on in a three-some. If he doesn't then he's going to die in a very," the demon pauses, "unpleasant way. And you are sorely outnumbered, and now that the angels don't need you as Michael's vessel, they don't care if I kill you. Heaven's not very reliable, is it?"

Dean does the math in his head and estimates that he has half an hour left before Sam dies. Half an hour to take out the demon. He's hoping that killing the demon will break the spell, because he's probably not going to be able to manage killing the demon and the witch.

"It's better than hell," Dean says. "How are things now that the apocalypse has been stopped? More hopeless than usual?"

"Alastair misses you," the demon says and Dean can't completely hide his flinch. "Imagine my reward if I deliver you to his hands? No one's as lovely broken as you are, Dean Winchester. Did you know that the angels still call you the Righteous Man? Even after the unspeakable things you've done, they wanted to use you as a vessel. They're the real hypocrites. They were going to use a broken human to win their war?" The demon laughs. "It's a good thing the fight didn't come down to Lucifer against Michael or heaven would be in shambles right now. I doubt you'd even be able to hold Michael inside your body with how far you've fallen."

Rationally, Dean knows that the demon's trying to get him worked up. He wants Dean to suffer before he dies. He might even want to drag this out for a full half hour so he can taunt Dean with Sam's death.

It's the thought of Sam that keeps Dean from curling into a useless ball. He can't freak out, not yet. He has to save Sam and then he can admit that the demon's touching on his worst fears. Dean's broken. He's shed innocent blood. He's the one who started the apocalypse. He's spent his life trying to save people, and when he only killed people when he had no other choice. And then he went to hell, and he broke. He hurt people because he wanted to, because he enjoyed it, because he was too weak to say no, too weak to let himself be hurt instead.

"Well," Dean grits out, "I might not be fit to be an angelic vessel, but I still have a reputation for killing demons." He pulls the knife out of his jacket and hurls it before the demon can react. It sticks into his skin, and the demon's eyes go wide, surprised, before there's a crackling and the demon burns out and the body drops to the ground.

Dean pulls away from Mikey, whose grip is now lax around Dean's arm, and dives for the knife.

"No!" Charlotte shrieks, and she's still naked though there's now blood dried into the shape of runes on her stomach. "No, you killed him!" She grabs the ritualistic knife off the table, and she looks wild, frenzied, and Dean springs to his feet, Ruby's knife clutched in his hand, wondering if there's a way to get out of this without killing her.

"No shit," Dean says, taking slow steps back. "He was a demon. You do realize that, right?"

"We were punishing the wicked."

Right, so she was crazy. Wonderful. Dean prefers fighting demons and spirits and things that aren't human anymore, because he always wants to give the humans the benefit of the doubt, he always feels guilty when he kills them, and he knows that he's going to have to kill her. She's been corrupted by the demon's influence, and if he leaves her then she's just going to find a new demon to bind herself to and the cycle's going to start again.

Some days, Dean really hates his job.

"What have you done?" Mikey's voice is horrified, and Dean turns to see the man standing by the door where Dean had left him, staring at Charlotte in horror. Mikey's shorter and less muscled than he was before, his shirt too loose on his frame, his jeans sliding down to his hips. Apparently the magic did more than make him obedient.

"I loved you!" Charlotte says, desperate, pleading, and Mikey takes a hurried step back.

Everything that happens next is a bit of a blur. Charlotte lunges towards Dean with her knife, and Mikey jumps to stop her and then Mikey's sprawled out on the floor, bleeding out, and Charlotte is screaming and pointing at Dean and then Mikey and then she plunges the knife into her chest and collapses over Mikey, and Dean sinks down onto the floor.

He's alive, but the demon vessel is dead, the witch is dead, and innocent Mikey is dead. He can't ever save anyone.

Dean: Ding dong the witch is dead

Dean sends the text to Clint, but he doesn't feel anything, but an empty ache in his chest. Four people are dead, and only one of them deserved to die.

His phone buzzes, distracting him, and he has a brief moment of hope that it's Clint texting him back, because Clint always makes Dean feel better, and then Dean sees Sam's name flashing on the screen and that's almost just as good.

"You feeling better?" Dean asks. There's blood trickling across the floor, crawling towards him. Dean should probably move before it starts to soak into his clothes.

"Sam is sleeping," Natasha says. "I assume you have dispatched the witch within the past two minutes, because that is when Sam immediately fell asleep and the signs of his arousal faded without any assistance."

Relief washes through Dean, because Sam is fine, and that's the most important thing. "Yeah, she's dead. So's the demon so spell broken. Sam's probably exhausted so it's natural sleep, but maybe have a doctor check him out just in case. Witches are full of nasty surprises."

"Of course. I wouldn't be surprised if he sleeps for an entire day. I tired him out."

She sounds smug, and Dean really doesn't want to think about that too much, because he's pretty sure he knows exactly how she tired him out.

"Yes, well, Cas is in heaven so I'm here and Sam's there so if you could keep an eye on him until he's better I would appreciate it."

"What do you plan on doing?"

Dean pulls his knees up to his chest so the blood doesn't touch his shoes. "I'm going to keep driving. I've hunted on my own before, and the evil isn't going to pause just because the three man team is down to one. Cas and Sam will join me when they're ready." Dean thinks of Sam, asleep in Natasha's bed, a blissed out smile on his face. "Or maybe they won't. I need to salt and burn a basement. Bye."

Dean hangs up and pushes himself to his feet. He steps carefully around the river of blood and starts gathering up all the witch's books and trinkets and talismans to burn. Once the bodies and the magic stuff is in a pile he'll grab the salt from upstairs and torch the basement. He should probably warn 31B that their house was about to catch on fire. The FBI is going to be pissed when they find out. If they find out. Maybe he'll wear a mask so the family can't identify him.


	4. Chapter 4

Warnings: Dean gets drunk as an unhealthy coping method, Dean has some self-esteem issues

A/N: The beginning is rough but it gets better

* * *

Dean manages to keep the fire contained so it only burns the basement, charring the stone walls and destroying everything down there, but the second family won't have to worry about losing their house. It's a small win, but Dean takes it.

He wonders if he should send the family one of those fruit basket things where the pineapple looks like flowers as a 'sorry for setting the basement on fire and sorry that your neighbor happened to be a witch and sorry that the place reeks of sulfur but that's from the demon the witch summoned'. He wonders how traceable fruit baskets are.

Dean shakes himself as he gets into the Impala. He needs to pull himself together. Fruit baskets? Really? It's a good thing there's no one to see how embarrassing he's being. He puts the keys in the engine, but doesn't start it. Instead, he rests his head on the steering wheel and takes a deep breath.

He'd killed the demon, but its words still hit a little too close to home. _Alastair misses you_. _No one's as lovely broken as you are. The unspeakable things you've done. Broken human. How far you've fallen_. Dean can feel the fire rising in his body. It starts in his chest, burns its way outwards, and his skin feels too tight and too hot, and he's sweaty and itchy, and he needs to move, needs to escape.

He turns the key in the engine and rolls down all the windows and drives until the sweat on his skin cools, and he's shivering, and he's so far away from civilization that he can pull the Impala over and not worry about waking anyone up with his nightmares.

* * *

Dean wakes up clammy, his voice hoarse from screaming, and he doesn't feel rested at all. He ignores the shaking in his hands and the lingering sound of Alastair's voice and reaches for his phone. He has three texts from Clint.

Clint: Congrats on killing the witch. Sorry the party sucked. Hope you splurged on good beer for your post-hunt reward.  
Clint: Nat told me about Sam and Cas. Heard Sam's feeling better but Cas is still in heaven which makes you alone. You doing all right?  
Clint: No service for a bit. I'll call you once I can.

Dean snaps his phone shut and rubs his eyes. He hadn't even though about grabbing a beer after the hunt. He'd been too worried about getting the hell out of there. It's probably best that he didn't have anything to drink, because he'd had enough trouble driving last night completely sober.

He needs to fix that. He has post-hunt rituals for a reason. They help ground him, and he could use some grounding right now. He could also use a good blackout. Who knows, maybe he'll forget all about hell.

He knows that it's a colossally bad idea to go and get drunk, by himself, in the middle of North Dakota. It's probably not made any better by the fact that he hasn't had breakfast, and he's only running on a couple hours of sleep, but he tried doing the responsible thing last night and three humans had died. He deserves to kick back.

* * *

It's 10am by the time Dean checks into the motel. He brings Ruby's knife with him but leaves the guns in the car, because he doesn't trust himself near any firearms when he's as drunk as he plans on getting.

He locks the motel door, shuts the blinds, strips down to his boxers, and turns on the TV for some background noise before settling on the bed with his 24-pack.

One _Charmed_ re-run later he's got a good buzz going. By the time he has to get up to pee the room is tilting beneath his feet, and he has to lean against the wall while his pisses in order to stay standing.

He wonders if he should've eaten something before starting his binge but then he thinks that he wouldn't have gotten drunk as fast so maybe it's fine after all. It takes him two tries to get the water turned on, and he ends up getting water all down his chest and on the sink, but he got some on his hands so that's okay.

He half-floats half-stumbles back to bed and collapses on the mattress with a grunt. He reaches for an unopened can of beer, and after successfully winning the fight with the tab, he spills some on his hand. As he's licking the beer off his skin he thinks he might have reached an all new low. He's trying to remember the last time he's licked beer off himself when his phone rings.

It's Clint. Dean ignores it and takes a drink of his beer. He doesn't know why he thought dating Clint would be a good idea. He doesn't know why he thought dating anyone would be a good idea. Well, he does know. It's because he's selfish.

He certainly doesn't deserve Clint. He doesn't deserve Sam either. Or Bobby. Or Cas. He has all these people in his life that make him happy, and he doesn't deserve it. He'd shed innocent blood in hell. He'd started the apocalypse. He's the reason the entire world almost went to shit. He should stay away from other people before he gets them killed or corrupts them or—

His phone starts buzzing again, insistent. Dean flops over to look at it. It's Bobby. He shouldn't answer, because he's avoiding people, but Bobby will understand. Bobby always understands, and it's lonely in the hotel room, and Dean's cold, because he's turned the AC all the way up, because he doesn't want to be hot.

He takes another sip of beer and flips his phone open. "It's cold," he says and his words sound slow like they're being pulled out of his mouth like taffy. Ooh, taffy. "I'm hungry."

There's a moment of silence and then Bobby's incredulous, "Are you drunk right now?"

"No need to judge."

"Dean, it's not even noon! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Fuck you," Dean says.

"Do you know how worried everyone is about you! Sam says you're not picking up your phone and when he and Cas went looking for you, you'd left town. Where the hell are you?"

Bobby sounds worried. It makes Dean smile for a moment, before he remembers that people shouldn't worry about him. They shouldn't care, because Dean's bad.

"In my room." Dean sighs and curls up around a pillow. He's suddenly feeling sleepy. Maybe he'll be able to sleep without dreams. Beer's good that way.

"Dean." Bobby sounds patient which isn't right. Dean's being difficult, and Bobby's being nice. People shouldn't be nice to him. "How far did you drive? You couldn't have gotten far."

"I'm somewhere. And tired. I'm somewhere and tired. Are you home, Bobby? You have a home. I like your home. I want a home." Dean stares up at the ceiling, one hand idly tracing patterns on his chest.

"What happened?" Bobby asks. "Did the witch do something to you?"

"Witch is dead," Dean mumbles. "They're all dead. The witch and Mikey and the vessel and the demon. Killed them all. No, I didn't kill them all. Mikey saved me and got killed by the witch and then the witch killed herself. Almost got blood on my jeans."

"People die, sometimes, Dean, you know that."

"Not the right people. The innocent people always die. Never the ones that are supposed to. I'm broken, Bobby. The demon knew it, the angels know it. I stopped the apocalypse. What the hell am I still doing alive?"

"Dean," Bobby's voice is soft, coaxing. "What's the address of your motel?"

"I'm fine." Dean knows what Bobby's trying to do. He's trying to trick Dean into telling him where he is so Bobby can send Cas here. Dean doesn't need Cas here. He's broken, pathetic, he doesn't want an angel seeing him like this. He doesn't want his brother seeing him like this. He wants to be alone. It's better if he's alone.

"You're far from fine."

"I need to be alone," Dean says. His eyelids are heavy. He's tired. "I don't wanna talk anymore. Sleep time."

"No." Bobby's voice is firm and insistent. "Dean Winchester, you will not hang up this phone until you tell me where you are."

"People are always telling me what to do. Dad, you, Sam, even the damn angels. I get tired of listening. Do you ever get tired of listening?"

"I can't believe we're having this talk while you're drunk."

"Alastair misses me," Dean says. "That's what the demon said. Alastair's waiting for me to screw up. He wants me back. I don't wanna go back to hell, Bobby."

"You let a demon get inside your head? Damn it, Dean, you know better than that. Alastair can wait for eternity, but he's not getting you back."

"I'm broken, Bobby. I know where I'm going when I die again."

"Don't be ridiculous. Castiel pulled you out of hell and restored you. He didn't go half-way on the job. You're whole again."

"He pulled me out so Michael could fill me, but it never would've worked. You don't know what I did there, Bobby. I'm not fit to be a vessel. I'm not fit to be human."

"Okay," Bobby says and he sounds angry now. "That's enough. Pull yourself together and tell me where you are."

Dean shakes his head. He doesn't want anyone coming to find him. He's tired and he's sad, and he's pathetically, disgustingly drunk. "I need to be alone for a little bit."

"That is certainly what you don't need."

"Please." Dean's voice wavers, on the verge of breaking. "I'll tell you, but give me three hours. Tell them I drank too much last night and passed out."

"Dean—"

"Please."

Bobby huffs. "Fine, but you're going to have to talk to someone about this eventually."

"Don't wanna talk. Wanna sleep."

Dean gives Bobby the address to the motel and curls up into a ball on the bed and cries until he falls asleep.

* * *

Dean wakes up to the motel door bursting open, and his reaction time is slow, and he curls away from the sunlight pouring into the room so it's a good thing he isn't being attacked by demons or anything.

"Wow." Sam looks around at the beer cans scattered across the room, and he wrinkles his nose at the smell of stale sweat mixed with beer. "This is disgusting."

Dean flips his off, but it feels like his hand weighs twenty pounds so he drops his arm back to the bed after only a moment. "My head hurts," he mumbles into the pillow.

"No shit." Sam shakes his head at the mess. "You went hard last night."

Dean tries to shrug, but it seems like a lot of effort. "I took out a demon, a witch, and a mind controlled wrestler all on my own. I was celebrating."

"Right. Well, now that your little celebration is over, want to get cleaned up so we can hit the road?"

Dean's stomach rolls at the thought of moving, let alone driving, but he brought this on himself so he slowly staggers to his feet. "I'm going to shower and change, and we're going to get food and then we can hit the road. I'm starving."

* * *

Dean's feeling much better by the time they're headed toward Montana. The four cups of water he pounded at breakfast means he's going to have to pee constantly for the next four hours, but his head's no longer pounding, and he seems to have gotten the worst of his moping out of his system during his embarrassing phone call with Bobby and even more embarrassing pity party.

Mostly he's just exhausted so he doesn't put up much of a fight when Sam takes the keys on the way out of the diner. Instead, Dean curls up on the backseat of the Impala with a balled up sweatshirt to use as a pillow.

He doesn't even protest when the familiar beginning of _The Way You Look Tonight_ plays from the speakers. He just buries his face in his sweatshirt and sleeps.

* * *

The next time he wakes up, mouth dry, eyes blinking blearily against the light, it's late afternoon, and they're still on the road. Dean rubs his eyes and sits up. Sam meets his eyes in the rearview mirror and smirks.

"Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty."

"Sleeping Beauty? Really?" Dean rolls his neck, listening to it crack and pop. "Cause if we're getting into nicknames, I can think of several after your little mishap last night."

Sam actually blushes and turns his attention back to the road.

"That's what I thought." Dean rubs the back of his neck and remembers why he didn't sleep in the car. He always woke up groggy and in pain.

"Thanks for taking out the witch for me."

Dean shrugs, uncomfortable with the thanks. "What are older brothers for?"

Sam nods, and Dean hopes this means they've satisfied the awkward post-hunt exchange that Sam's so fond of. "You shouldn't have celebrated without us."

Of course it wasn't over. Now Dean has to be lectured on his drinking habits. He wonders if it's too late to fall back asleep. "You both left me so it was celebrate by myself or not at all."

"You could've waited."

Had Bobby told them what happened? Dean had asked him not to, but he knows that he'd been pretty stupid, and that Bobby might have been worried enough to stick a Sam lecture on him. "Why? It's not like you guys did anything."

Hurt flashes in Sam's eyes, long enough for Dean to catch it and feel guilty. He's thinking about apologizing when Sam presses his lips into a thin line and slams on the accelerator.

* * *

The problem with sleeping all day is that Dean isn't tired when they call it a night. Sam gets them the crappiest motel room he can find which punishes Sam more than Dean, because Dean doesn't plan on sleeping much so his back isn't going to ache in the morning.

He dumps his bag on his bed, tosses Sam the remote to the TV, grabs a key to the room and heads outside.

It's a bit chilly outside so he tugs he tucks his hands inside his sweatshirt sleeves as he sits down on curb outside their room.

"You are unsettled," Cas says coming out to join Dean on the curb.

"I'm fine."

Cas doesn't say anything, he just fixes Dean with a look so severe, so focused that Dean feels like Cas is staring into his very soul and reading all of its secrets. It's unsettling, and Dean shifts under the intensity, because Cas is the angel that pulled Dean up from hell, that put him back together, and for all Dean knows, Cas does know every single thing he's ever done.

Dean shifts again, uncomfortable. "Look, I'll be fine."

"No you won't. Not if you continue like this." Cas reaches out a hand and places it on Dean's shoulder. The heat of his palm sinks through Dean's sweatshirt until he can feel it on his skin. The touch is reassuring, grounding, everything Dean needs but is afraid to ask for.

"What do you know?" Dean asks. He's not sure whether he's asking about the past or last night or even the future.

The hand squeezes his shoulder. "Everything, Dean."

It should terrify him. Dean should shrink back, should run away, because he's spent his whole life guarding himself. No one knows him completely; John didn't, Sam doesn't, not even Clint knows everything about Dean. He protects himself by shielding parts of him, by keeping anyone from knowing him completely, because then they can't hate him or hurt him just the projection of him that he's given them.

With Cas it's different. When Cas says he knows everything, Dean leans against him, fight and breath whooshing out of his body, leaving him relaxed. He feels safe. He's not sure what to do with that.

Cas's hand cards through Dean's hair. It's a simple action. A human action, and Dean drops his hand to Cas's shoulder.

"I don't know why I'm alive anymore," Dean confesses, breathing his words into Cas's trench coat.

"Your purpose remains the same as it always has been. You are alive to live."

"Bullshit. I mean _why_."

"Dean, we fought demons in order to prevent the apocalypse and ensure free will for the human race. You are alive to live your life how you choose."

"If Lucifer had risen, I wasn't going to get to live my life how I wanted. I was going to be claimed by Michael." Unless he was too broken to be used as an angelic vessel.

"You had to consent," Cas reminds him, patient as always. "You would have had the choice to say yes or no. You always have a choice, Dean."

"Sometimes they're shitty choices."

Cas laughs and ruffles Dean's hair. "Sometimes that is the case. But sometimes the choices are not as distasteful."

"Yeah?"

The hand in Dean's hair pauses. "You have many choices before you now. You can continue to struggle on your own or you can accept help. You can keep driving in this car, restless, homeless, or you can create a home for yourself. You are drifting, Dean. Do you ever tire of drifting?"

Dean can feel tears prickling at the backs of his eyes, and he doesn't want to shed them, because he's cried enough today, and while crying by himself might be acceptable after a shitty night and a shit ton of beer, crying in front of another dude is definitely not acceptable.

"This is my life," Dean says. He picks his head up off Cas's shoulder. "This has always been my life. It's all I know."

"That is not true. You know more. You can have something different. It is a choice."

Dean thinks about settling down. He has to look far back in his memory, back to before hunting, before the fire, back when Sam wasn't even born. He had a family, and he had a home, and they were happy. He had been happy. And one night, one instant shattered that forever, and Dean's been scouring the country for the pieces, trying to get enough to put a life back together, and he always falls short.

He's not sure he actually wants to succeed. What happens when he finally gets a home again? How can he be happy when he knows it can fall apart? How does he live knowing how much it'll hurt when it all ends? He can't take that step, take that chance. He's happy enough on the road, with Sam in the passenger seat and Cas in the backseat, and Bobby and Clint on speed dial. He doesn't need more. He doesn't deserve more.

"It is something to think on," Cas says, "but for tonight, would you like me to help you sleep so that you are able to drive tomorrow?"

Dean thinks about saying yes, about climbing into bed and letting Cas touch his forehead and put him to sleep, but that's too easy, and Dean had taken the easy way out last night. He can't do it again tonight.

"Naw," Dean says. "A lot to think about, remember? Might as well start thinking now. I'll catch a few hours later, and I'll be fine to drive."

"I will return to the tower, then, but if you require my assistance—"

"I know how to get a hold of you," Dean says. He waves his hand. "Go and see your soldier boy." Cas is getting to his feet when Dean throw his hand out to touch Cas's wrist. "Thank you," Dean says to the ground, unable to meet Cas's eyes.

"Of course. I will always be here when you need me."

Dean doesn't look up from the cracked asphalt until he hears the flutter of Cas's wings. He stares at the ground for a good minute before he pulls out his phone and texts Clint.

Dean: Sorry I didn't answer your call. I was pretty fucked up.

Dean doesn't know why he's such an idiot. Getting drunk last night had been a terrible idea, calling and whining to Bobby had been a terrible idea, and ignoring Clint's phone call had been a terrible idea. No one's asking Dean to commit to anything. He isn't being asked to sign away years of his life. He has people who care about him and want to see him well, who want to see him period, and he ran away from them.

Clint: Alcohol or something else?  
Dean: Both  
Clint: If I call, will you pick up?  
Dean: Yes

Dean pushes off the curb and climbs into the back seat of the Impala so he can sprawl out and hopefully not be overheard. His phone rings a moment later.

"I should've picked up this morning. I'm sorry. Rough night."

"Tell me about it?"

Dean takes a deep breath, thinks about what he's going to say, if anything. "I ended up on my own. Fought a mind controlled human, a witch, and a demon. Demon was a talkative bastard. I let him get to me."

"You good now?"

"Better."

Clint doesn't push, and Dean's grateful. Talking to Cas is easy, because Cas already knows everything. Dean doesn't have to give up the details, doesn't have to admit his weakness, because Cas already knows it, and he's still at Dean's side. There's almost nothing Dean can do that could make Cas leave him, and it's reassuring, and it makes Cas someone safe to talk to.

Dean's afraid of Clint leaving him if he learns the whole truth. Dean's afraid of Sam leaving him. Bobby knows a bit of what happened in hell, and the disappointment on his face, the pity had been almost too much for Dean to handle.

"I've been running away," Dean says and he doesn't know where that came from or why he decided that now was a good time for intimate confessions.

"I know."

"I mean, I'm doing good work, important work," great and now Dean is justifying himself, "but that makes it easier for me to run, and I could do this for years. There's always going to be something somewhere, but I don't want to. I just don't know how to stop."

"You're restless," Clint says. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. You've just come off two major hunts, Lilith and the Chi'tauri, and of course you're having trouble settling. You feel off-kilter, ungrounded, like you don't know what you're supposed to be doing so you're searching for something to do, to occupy your time, to make you feel useful again."

"Well, shit." Clint had nailed it.

"I feel that way between missions," Clint says. "It's normal to feel that way. Adjusting back to real life is hard, but you can't push yourself all the time or you'll burn out."

"How do you do it? Adjust?"

"I come home. Go through a set routine. It helps ground me, remind me that I'm Clint the human being not just Clint the SHIELD agent. When it gets really bad, I shoot things or pester Coulson into giving me another mission."

Dean's not alone. There are people who feel like he does right now. There's an entire building of them in Manhattan. He's not alone, and he can get help. He's tired, and it goes beyond not enough sleep or a hangover. He's bone weary, muscle aching tired. He needs a break, and he never thought he could take one, because if someone died while he was resting then that was on his conscience, but he can't keep up this pace forever.

"Maybe," Dean clears his throat, closes his eyes. "Maybe you could help me figure out a routine sometime."

Dean can practically feel Clint's smile through the phone. "Yeah. I'd like that."


	5. Chapter 5

They loop through Montana, drop down to Wyoming and head back to New York. It takes three months, and they deal with a couple ghosts in Wyoming, a nest of demons in Nebraska, an ancient god of corn in Iowa and by the time Dean is pulling into Tony Stark's personal parking garage he's ready to collapse in bed and sleep for three days straight.

"Welcome back," Jarvis says as Sam and Dean climb out of the car—Cas has already whisked himself upstairs.

Dean startles at the voice and ignores Sam's snickering as he pops the trunk.

"Thank you, Jarvis," Sam says sweetly like the suck-up he is.

"I am pleased that you have returned unharmed, Samuel."

Dean raises his eyebrows and mouths 'Samuel?' as he grabs his duffel of clothes and his bag of weapons. Sam shrugs.

"Your suite is waiting for you," Jarvis says. "Do you remember how to get there?"

"37th floor, first suite on the left," Sam says. He grabs his bag, slams the trunk shut, and leads Dean upstairs.

Dean hadn't actually stayed in the suite last time he was here, because he'd been in Clint's, but it had the same basic layout. Living room with a couch, a TV, and a mini-fridge, two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a storage closet.

Dean heads into the first bedroom and drops his bags on the bed. He's been driving since nine this morning, and he's exhausted but also filthy and he's debating whether sleep or shower comes first when Sam wanders into his room.

"Four months on the road wasn't enough bonding time?" Dean asks. "I draw the line at you sleeping in bed with me. Or on the floor. We have separate rooms for a reason."

Sam doesn't even bother with an eye roll. "I'm not staying in the suite. I'm surprised you are."

"Why?" Dean pulls a knife and a gun out of his bag. The knife goes under the mattress where he can reach it easily but won't accidently stab himself during the night. The gun goes in the drawer next to the bed. He checks to make sure the safety is on. "Tony set it aside for us."

If Dean's back wasn't to Sam, he'd see the 'why is my brother the biggest idiot on the planet' look Sam was shooting him. "I thought you'd be staying with Clint."

"Probably will." Dean rummages through his clothing bag. He should probably wash everything. He wonders if there are any clean clothes in the room for him to put on while he does laundry. "But Clint's on a mission right now, and I don't want him coming back to me in his room. Don't want to startle him."

Dean had been disappointed when he realized that Clint was going to be in Central America when Dean got back to the tower, but he couldn't be too upset, because Dean was the one who'd peaced out for four months. Clint will be coming back in a few days, and then they can start figuring out how they work as a couple that now live in the same place. Honestly, Dean's not sure if Clint wants to share his suite. Dean's been sharing space since he was a kid so he's used to it, but Clint might not be. He might cherish his privacy.

"Oh." Sam sounds like he hadn't considered that. "Well, you don't mind if I move into Tasha's, do you?"

Dean raises his eyebrows, and he can feel a smirk stretching his lips. "Tasha?"

Sam blushes. "Shut up. I'm going."

Dean gives Sam a little wave, and the smile drops from his face as soon as Sam's out of sight. Everything's changing, and Dean doesn't know yet whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. He still hasn't gotten his feet underneath him, but things are different, and it leaves Dean feeling uneasy. He doesn't know the rules anymore. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do, what he's supposed to say, and he doesn't want to screw anything up, because he thinks something good is finally starting to happen, and he doesn't want to be the reason it doesn't work out.

Tired of thinking, Dean strips down and heads to the shower. He's going to take a nice, scalding shower, wash off all traces of the road and his recent hunts, and he's going to sleep. He'll wake up clean, refreshed, and ready to tackle whatever the hell life is throwing at him next.

* * *

Dean emerges from his room in the morning, starving and wondering whether he should wake Sam up and drag him to some fancy over-priced café. Dean's doubts that he'll be able to find a good old-fashioned diner or burger joint given their current location, and he wonders if maybe moving in here isn't such a good idea after all.

"Coffee?"

Dean looks up to see Bruce standing in the middle of the kitchen in a tweed suit with actual elbow pads. He's holding out a pot of coffee and Dean shakes his head. "No thanks."

"Breakfast at least?" Bruce smiles, and it's soft and easygoing, and Dean has a hard time reconciling the odd professor vibe he's getting right now with the Hulk.

Bruce points to the frying pans on the stove, and Dean can smell eggs and bacon, and he knows he should refuse and go get Sam so they can take care of breakfast themselves, but it smells delicious, and he really doesn't want to go wandering around Manhattan, and if Bruce is offering then Dean can say yes, right?

"If you insist," Dean says, coming into the kitchen.

Bruce's smile widens, and he pushes his glasses up before going back to the frying pans. "I heard you got back late last night. Successful trip?"

"Vanquished some evil, so yes." Dean settles onto one of the barstools. "But we didn't do a sweep of the whole US which was the original plan, and our fellow hunters are being suspicious douche bags so our plan to make hunting more efficient aren't going as planned."

They had run into several more hunters on their trip. There was a couple that tried to sacrifice Sam in attempt to permanently close the gates to hell and an old man who shot out the tires of the Impala and then told them to get the hell away from him which Dean was pissed about, because he had to get four new tires. There were two hunters that were willing to contribute their journals to the cause which Sam had been excited about, but no one had wanted to keep in touch with them.

Dean can't completely blame them, because the Winchesters are famous for attracting trouble, and Sam still hasn't shaken his demon boy reputation.

"What made you cut your trip short?" Bruce is moving around the kitchen like he's comfortable, and it's domestic and at odds with everything Dean's been used to for the past, well, since mom died, really.

"Sam's a whiny bitch," Dean says. And I missed Clint, and I'm too old to spend my life either in the Impala or a shitty motel, and I'm ready to create a home base, and the thought terrifies me.

Bruce chuckles and turns the bacon over and it crackles and sizzles, and Dean's mouth waters. "How long are you staying before you head out again?" At Dean's surprised look, Bruce laughs again. "You did part of the US, and I'm guessing you're going to leave again to do another part. I've read up on you and your brother. You're not going to stay still and twiddle your thumbs, and I doubt there's enough supernatural activity in Manhattan to keep you occupied for the rest of your lives."

"You've read up on us?" Dean asks, ignoring the question of how long they're staying, because Dean has no idea. They're definitely staying until Clint gets back, because Dean wants to see him, but he's not staying too long because he also needs to finish the US tour.

Bruce's smile is sheepish as he divides breakfast onto two plates and hands one to Dean. "You specialize in killing monsters, of course I read up on you."

Dean starts shoveling food into his mouth, not caring that it's hot and burning his tongue, because he's hungry and this is homemade, and he's pretty sure life doesn't get any better than this. And then he realizes that Bruce is giving him an expectant look, and Dean replays what Bruce just said, searching for significance.

Oh.

"We're damn good at killing them," Dean says purposefully misunderstanding.

There's a long silence as Bruce measures him up, and Dean fills it by crunching his bacon as loud as he can between his teeth.

Finally, Bruce puts his fork down and leans forward across the breakfast bar. "So, how do you kill me?"

Dean chews his eggs slower than he usually does, because it gives him time to think. It is way too early in the morning to be having this kind of conversation. The man standing in front of him has bed head and is wearing a rumpled suit and looks like he'd fit in at a Philosophy Professor Convention.

Except for the eyes. The eyes are filled with a self-loathing that is all too familiar to Dean, and Bruce fidgets under Dean's assessment, and his shoulders hunch forward like he's trying to make himself smaller, and that isn't the body language of a killer. That's the body language of a human who is scared.

Dean thinks about Madison and how genuinely repentant she'd been about what the werewolf had done, and how she was terrified of losing control, of being that thing and killing people, but Bruce isn't the same as Madison. He remembers what he does as the Hulk, and he still exercises control when he gets big and green. Dean had fought with him against the Chi'tauri, and the Hulk wasn't mindless violence, he was concentrated violence. He attacked the Chi'tauri, made a conscious decision of who to attack and why.

"Like you said," Dean says, "we specialize in killing monsters."

He goes back to his breakfast, and Bruce is quiet for a moment before he shuffles over to the counter to grab his coffee and the newspaper.

They're undisturbed until Agent Coulson comes into the kitchen. He's in a plain black suit, and Dean wonders if he wears the same suit every day or if he has ten identical suits hanging up in his closet.

"Good, you're awake," Coulson says instead of hello or good morning like a normal person would. "Once you're finished with breakfast, I would like you to come with me to SHIELD."

It's one of those suggestions that isn't really a suggestion, and Dean can feel the instinctual need to make a snarky remark or just say no rising up in him, but he pushes it down. This man is important to Clint, and he's the one who's keeping Sam and Dean from getting snatched up by the FBI so Dean shouldn't antagonize him without reason. Besides, Dean has no idea what he's going to do all day and maybe the visit to SHIELD will be fun.

"Just me?"

Coulson nods. "Sam already has his assignment."

Dean pauses, last forkful of his eggs halfway to his mouth. "Assignment?" Sam has an assignment? Dean's getting one? What the hell?

A brief smile curves Coulson's lips. "The Supernatural Database. It's Sam's secondary assignment. His first, obviously, is fighting the supernatural."

Dean's pretty sure his confusion is obvious, but he can't be bothered to try and hide it, because Sam's been secretly working for the government all this time? Why hadn't he said anything?

"Your primary assignment is also fighting the supernatural, but your secondary assignment is training SHIELD agents which is why I want to give you a tour of the building today."

Dean drops his fork back to his plate. "You want me to work for you?"

Coulson's smile widens. "Why do you think we cleared you with the FBI and offered you a salary?"

Wait, what? A salary? He'd been offered a job? Dean had thought it was pity money, and now it turns out that SHIELD wants him to work for them? Dean's never had a steady job, and now they want to pay him for something he's been doing all his life? He should say yes, because why hunt for free when he could get paid for it, but he doesn't trust all this.

"If you at any time choose to terminate your contract with SHIELD, you won't lose your amnesty. The FBI nor any other law enforcement agency can charge you with anything from your past. If you commit crimes after leaving us then you'll be on your own."

Dean needs a minute to process all of this. He and Sammy are being given a fresh start. They've been cleared with the FBI, they have a home, they have a job, they have security and permanence which Dean never thought they would have, but there has to be a catch. It's too much and too good.

"Why?"

Coulson seems to understand what Dean is really asking. "The Avengers were created to deal with global threats, but there are daily threats to the planet, ones that you have experience with and that need a little more finesse than our superhero squad. We're in the process of creating a supernatural division of SHIELD that will be prepared to deal with anything hell might throw at us."

Dean searches Coulson's face for any sign that this is a trick or a pity move, for anything that would give him reason to say no, that would quell his fears that something good is actually happening.

"Stark's designed a quinjet that isn't as flashy as the Impala, but can travel much faster," Coulson says. "I want you to start training your first team, and I want you ready to hit the West Coast in a month. According to the research Bobby's done, there's going to be something pretty nasty popping up on September 5th in Stockton."

Bobby's in on this? Bobby and Sam have gotten wrapped up in this world, and even Cas has found himself a place in it, and if Dean says no, if he goes back to hunting the way he's used to it then he'll be alone. He doesn't want to be alone, but he doesn't want to feel trapped either.

"We'll get you some training too," Coulson says giving no sign that he's aware of the debate going on in Dean's head. "You're a natural at fighting, and you've picked up a lot of tricks over the years, but we can teach you more, and we can probably get a hold of some weapons you've only dreamed of using."

"Rocket launcher?"

It had been a joke, but Coulson doesn't smile. "If the situation calls for it then yes."

"Well," Dean wipes his hands on his jeans. "I guess we should head over to SHIELD." Getting a tour of the building doesn't mean he's signing himself up for this shit. He's going to see what it's like and then decide. It's not like he has anything better to do with his time until Clint gets back.

* * *

On their way into the nondescript building, Coulson hands Dean an ID badge. It has Dean's picture and information on him, and Dean turns it over, grinning, because he's finally gotten himself a real badge.

"You should toss the fake ones," Coulson says like he's reading Dean's mind. "You're not permitted to impersonate any government officials or officers of the law while under SHIELD employment."

"So my life is about to get boring is what you're saying?" Dean jokes.

Coulson barely spares him a glance as takes off his gun and puts it on the conveyor belt so he can walk through the metal detector. The metal detector flashes green, saying that Coulson is clear, and he turns to wait expectantly for Dean.

Dean looks up at the archway and thinks about the familiar comfort of Ruby's knife. He can't walk through the detector with it, but he's not sure Coulson will let him keep it. Dean might be "cleared" by the FBI, but he knows that he has a reputation. People don't trust him, which they shouldn't, and he's not sure he'll be allowed to walk around armed.

"You have a blade on you," Coulson says and it isn't a question. "Put it in the bin and walk through. We don't have all day."

Dean hesitantly draws Ruby's knife out, and his hand lingers a moment before dropping it onto the conveyor belt. He tries to never part with the knife, never let it out of his sight, because it's one of the few things that can kill demons, and he doesn't want to lose it. He's antsy as he waits for the metal detector to clear him, and he doesn't settle until his thumb is brushing over the familiar wooden handle.

"Ready?" Coulson asks.

He doesn't wait for Dean to answer before heading down the hall, and Dean tucks the knife away before catching up to him. The walls are a nice non-descript gray, light enough to not be completely depressing and dark enough that they're not blinding. There's a bustle of activity around them, but everyone pauses to give Coulson a brief smile or gawk at Dean.

"I swear we're more professional than this," Coulson says as they pass two agents that are clearly whispering about Dean.

Dean shrugs. "I'm surprised no one's tried to arrest me yet. I'm not exactly popular in government agencies."

"I've already informed you that you're clear."

"I've had local cops try and shoot me when there was strict bring him in alive order, because they thought they'd get a medal for being the one to take me out. And I know enough about how agencies like these work to know that there are official orders and then what's really going on."

Coulson stops so suddenly that Dean almost runs into him, and Dean takes a step back as Coulson crowds his space, and he takes another until he's pressed up against the wall and Coulson's face is inches from his own.

"I know you have trust issues, and I know you have plenty of reason for them, but I have given you my word that you are protected here. No one tries to arrest you or kill you without an order from Director Fury, and he won't give that order unless you have made it very clear that you're a threat to this country. Do you understand?"

Dean manages a small nod and then Coulson straightens his suit and starts walking again. They've only gone two steps when he points to a door on their right. "That's the break room. There's always water, vitamin water, Gatorade, and snacks in there if you need them. I've also been told that it's a good place for gossip despite the memos I've sent out on the subject."

"People talk," Dean says. "Memos won't make them quit." He thinks about Sam and his incessant need to talk about everything and everyone. There was one time Dean had been trying to enjoy a nice slice of pie, and Sam had insisted on chatting away about the waitress and how she had clearly just broken up with her boyfriend and wasn't that a shame. Dean had kicked him until he shut up. "Kicking does wonders though."

Dean grins and pokes his head into the next room. There are four tables that made up a square with chairs surrounding them, and there's a projector on the ceiling and a white board on one wall.

"Meeting room," Coulson supplies. "We have several. You're going to be situated in the basement though." Coulson pushes open the door to the stairs and leads Dean down.

* * *

Coulson gives Dean the tour of the basement which is bigger than Dean had been expecting. There's a gym that has three sparing rings, a wall full of mirrors with free weights lined up against it, another wall full of exercise machines, another with squat racks and benches, and Dean's pretty sure this is workout heaven.

He's led past a locked door that's apparently the time out room for the Hulk, and there are some more doors he doesn't have access to that are apparently specialized practice rooms—for Thor's lightening, Iron Man's repulsors, rooms that have been crafted to withstand the superhuman. There are more practice rooms, smaller versions of the gym, and there are more meeting rooms, and of course there's the requisite locker room with communal showers and a sauna.

Dean raises his eyebrows at the showers. "You can afford more gym equipment than the YMCA, but not dividers for your showers?"

"Our teams have to trust each other."

"So you have them shower together?"

Coulson seems amused that Dean's hung up on the shower thing. "For some people, being naked makes them feel vulnerable, and if they let their team see them like that then it's a sign of trust."

"I can't believe you've put thought into how to manipulate people through showers," Dean says as they head back towards the stairs.

"It's not manipulation. It's team building. You trust Sam to have your back in fight, don't you?"

"Yeah but not because he's seen my junk. It's because he's my brother."

"Well," Coulson's definitely smiling now. "Since I don't have anyone on staff who can manipulate genetics and make your entire team your biological brother, I have to find another way."

"I'm pretty sure you just made a joke," Dean says, and he's not quite sure how he feels about that.

"Really?" Coulson asks, his face expressionless, "Because I've been told that I have no sense of humor."

He's definitely joking, Dean's sure of it. "You and Uriel should get together and start a comedy club. I'm sure it would be a real hit."

"Uriel?" Coulson leads Dean into a meeting room.

"Funniest angel in Cas's garrison," Dean pauses when he sees four people sitting around the table waiting for them.

"Angels have a sense of humor?"

Dean's flashes a smile that isn't an answer either way and looks over the people in the room. Two men, two women. Both men have close cut brown hair, one has blue eyes, one brown. Blue eyes has a tremor in his left hand, and brown eyes has deep wrinkles around the corners of his mouth like he's used to frowning. One woman has chin length black hair, perfectly straight, and she hasn't even seemed to notice that Dean and Coulson have walked in, too busy with her tablet. The second woman, she has a dirty blond ponytail, grins when she spots them and slouches enough to be a challenge but not enough to be outright insubordination. Dean likes her immediately.

"DeNali," Coulson says and the woman sits up straight. Coulson turns to Dean. "That's Victoria DeNali."

"Tori," she says flashing Dean a smile. "You must be Dean Winchester. You prefer Dean or fearless leader?"

"Trevor Markus." Coulson points to brown eyes. "Matthew Aronson." Blue eyes gives a shy smile. "And Christine Shea."

Christine looks up from her tablet and gives a distracted wave. "We've just about got all the exorcisms loaded, but we need to test them." She looks past Coulson to Dean. "Any idea where we can find some demons?"

"Hell." Dean grins. She doesn't smile back. Instead, she gives Coulson a 'seriously?' look and goes back to typing away.

"We'll test the software as soon as we're able," Coulson says. "Now, team, this is Dean Winchester. You'll be training with him, learning how to assess and handle supernatural threats. I expect you to give him the same respect as you give me."

Dean tries not to look surprised that he's being given authority over a group of people and that they're being told to listen to him, because that probably isn't the best way to instill confidence, but he is surprised. Up until recently he's been on the FBI's watch list and now he's being trusted to lead a team, to educate and train a group of people. Their lives and welfare are going to be in his hands. He's not sure he wants that responsibility.

"Yes sir," the group murmurs and then Coulson is turning to Dean.

"They're all yours. You have the rest of the morning to get to know them as well as lunch. After lunch, the five of you will start your training program. General fitness for now."

Wait, Dean's just being thrown into this? No warning, no chance to prepare, just here you go good luck? He's tempted to glare at Coulson, but he can't waste the time, because he has to think of what to do.

"Well," Dean says and he feels a grin start to stretch across his face. "I guess, we should all get naked, because according to Agent Coulson that's SHIELD standard team bonding ritual."

Coulson mutters something like, "I don't get paid enough for this," before walking out of the room and shutting the door firmly behind him.

Dean turns back to his four—agents? Teammates? Whatever they are—to see that none of them have moved. Tori at least is smiling she so immediately gets three points.

"I'm your weapons expert," Tori says. "Guns are my specialty, pretty good with knives, though. Even better with shit that's just laying around." She grins, a half-crazy smile that makes Dean feel an immediate bond with her.

"I'm explosives," Trevor says. "I blow shit up."

"Tech," Christine says, not looking up from her tablet. "I've been coordinating with Sam, working on getting the database accessible. I'm the one working on making the tower supernatural-proof."

"Supernatural proof?" Dean sits down at the head of the table, interested.

"Salt lines, devil traps, cold iron, everything and anything we can do to keep the bad guys out. We're putting SHIELD HQ through the same, but the tower is the priority since you're living there, so that's probably evil's first stop."

Dean nods agreeing and turns to Matthew. "What's your specialty?"

"Transport. I can fly anything SHIELD's got. Other than that, I'm pretty useless." He looks down at his hand. It's still trembling. "Only settles down when I've got controls gripped in my hands."

"I'm sure you're not useless," Dean says though he doesn't see why they're going to have to fly anything. He has the Impala. That's how he gets to hunts; though, it will be a bit crowded fitting all five of them in there. And then Dean realizes what Matthew's said. "Fly? You fly things?"

Matthew nods, slowly. "We're probably going to be using the quinjet the most, but I can fly any aircraft that's here."

Dean hates flying. He loathes flying. They're definitely going to be taking the Impala everywhere.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thor and Dean fail at Mario Kart. Dean is surprisingly not fail at having a relationship. He also bonds with his brother. It's scary how much of a functional adult he is in this chapter.

* * *

After Dean's second full day at SHIELD, after he showers and inspects he newest training bruises, he packs all of his fake IDs and extra cash into a metal box and brings it down to the garage. He tucks it underneath the driver's seat in the Impala. He's not willing to completely give it up, but for now, an official ID is way better than a fake one.

After his third day, he's lounging on the couch with Thor, playing Mario Kart, because Dean hates shooting games. He does enough of that in real life, he doesn't need to kill people in his spare time. Instead, he twists the Wii wheel and curses as he tumbles off the edge of the course.

"I hope you pilot your vehicle in real life better than this," Thor says, grinning. His smile doesn't diminish as he also takes a dive off the side of the road.

"Still alive, aren't I?"

Thor nods, acknowledging his point and they lapse into silence again as they try and beat out Yoshi, the damn computer player that keeps beating them.

Attempt number six, and Dean thinks he's finally going to get the green bastard when the door to the living room opens, and Dean's eyes snap up, because he's been unconsciously been waiting for that sound all night.

Clint steps through the door, duffel slung over his right shoulder, weighing him down, and there's dirt streaked across his face, and tired lines worked into the corners of his mouth and eyes, but it's Clint, and Dean can't help the surge of relief and happiness and desire when he sees him.

Clint doesn't spot Dean as he stumbles further into the room, taking slow uneven steps like he's drunk. But he's not drunk, he's exhausted and coming back from a mission, and Dean knows that feeling. He often feels that way after tough hunts.

Dean doesn't realize that he's staring or that his Toad isn't driving anymore until Thor nudges him.

"Are you going to go to him?" Thor asks.

Dean blinks and tears his eyes away from Clint. "What?" Dean realizes that Thor's wondering if Dean's going to go to Clint's room and help him. Dean doesn't have an answer to that, because he's never been there when Clint's getting back from a mission. He doesn't know what Clint wants, what his routine is, if there's space for Dean there. It's safer for Dean to stay on the couch, to fruitlessly try to beat Yoshi, and wait for Clint to come to him.

And then Clint turns his head, and he leans against the wall like standing on his own is suddenly too much effort, and he's looking at Dean, and all the exhaustion peels away for a moment, Clint's face saying _come with me _and _it's okay_ and _I want you._

"Yeah," Dean says and he's not sure whether he's answering Thor or Clint or both, but then he's up and crossing the room and grabbing Clint's bag, and they're headed back to Clint's suite.

They make it to the bedroom before Clint's knees begin to shake, and he has to lean against the counter to stay standing.

"It's all right," Dean says as he lifts Clint's shirt over his head. "I've got you." Dean slowly takes off Clint's clothes, mindful of the bruises on Clint's ribs and the sand burn on his shoulder and the cut on his thigh. He eases Clint out of his shoes, and Clint rests his weight on Dean's shoulders as Dean helps him with his pants and his socks.

Dean leaves Clint leaning against the wall as he quickly strips himself down and turns on the shower. He washes the sand and the dirt out of Clint's hair and gently scrubs off the layers of sweat on grime on Clint's skin. Dean occasionally pauses to hold Clint or brush his thumb over Clint's cheek or just repeat, "I've got you."

Each time, Clint's eyes flutter shut, and he relaxes a little bit more until he's putty in Dean's hands, and he just stands in the middle of the bathroom when Dean towels him dry, and he offers up no resistance when Dean brings him back to the bedroom. Dean helps him get on a pair of briefs and pulls back the covers.

"It's all right," Dean says as he helps Clint into bed.

Clint smiles and laces his fingers with Dean's and gives a small tug, a request for Dean to climb into bed with him. "You've got me," Clint mumbles into the side of Dean's neck.

"Yeah," Dean says, his heart pounding as he drops a hand to Clint's damp hair. "I've got you."

* * *

Dean wakes up pleasantly warm and content, and it takes him a moment to realize why. Clint is still tucked into Dean's side, his hair tickling the underside of Dean's chin, an arm wrapped firmly around Dean's waist.

Dean runs a careful hand through Clint's hair, not wanting to wake him up. He settles back into the pillows, content to lay here until Clint wakes up or at least content to wait until the very last minute. He doesn't have to be into SHIELD until ten which gives him two hours before he has to leave the tower.

Dean can't believe that it's 7:30am, and he actually feels rested. He never gets up this early if he can help it, and he never feels this awake when he does.

Clint starts to shift at 7:40. By 7:45 he's blinking and stretching, and lifting his head off Dean's chest.

"Huh," Clint says and then he looks up and sees Dean's face, and he relaxes as a smile spread across his features.

"Morning," Dean says, quiet.

Clint smiles, looking younger and happier and healthier after a night of sleep, and he leans up to brush his lips across Dean's. "Wasn't sure if I'd just dreamed you. I was pretty out of it last night."

"You wish your subconscious could dream up someone like me," Dean says, earning himself a small laugh. He smiles and trails his fingers down Clint's back.

"I like this," Clint says after a moment. His thumb brushes over Dean's hipbone, and he dips his head down to press a kiss to Dean's collarbone.

"Me too." Dean thinks about the warm press of Clint's body against his, the light tease of Clint's breath on his skin, and he thinks about how he could definitely get used to waking up like this.

And then Clint's stomach growls, ruining the moment, and they both laugh. "I guess I should make breakfast," Clint says, but he doesn't move, not really wanting to get up.

"I could go out and order some," Dean says. He has a debit card now, and he's sure there's some place within walking distance that has muffins or pancakes or even breakfast burritos.

"Don't want you out of my sight for that long." Clint smiles and kisses the corner of Dean's mouth before rolling out of bed. His muscles crack and pop as he moves, and Dean stays in bed and watches Clint head over to the bureau. He grabs a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and puts them on before heading to the bathroom.

Dean flops back on the bed and thinks about slow mornings and homemade breakfast and kisses beneath the sheets and grins like an idiot.

* * *

Dean gathers up the clothes he'd thrown across the room last night, and the ones from Clint's mission duffel, and he throws them into the washer before heading out to the kitchen. He's in a pair of jeans and plain black t-shirt, not realizing that he's matching Clint until he comes out into the kitchen.

Clint's already there, flipping pancakes and singing under his breath as he pushes some eggs around a frying pan.

"Looks good," Dean says, coming up behind Clint and kissing the back of his neck.

"I've always been told I've got a great ass."

Dean laughs and gives Clint's ass an experimental squeeze. "Mm, you're right. Pretty good."

Dean wanders over to the fridge to grab the milk, and he pours himself a glass before raising a glass in question to Clint. He nods and Dean pours a second glass before setting them down on the counter.

"Do they give you time off after a mission?" Dean asks, going to the drawer next to the oven to grab silverware.

"Some. I have to head in today for a debrief, and I'll probably go to the gym to work out the residual soreness. And I have to go to medical." Clint scowls as he drops the pancakes and some eggs onto two plates. "I hate medical."

"Is that what the dark look is for?" Dean grins and snags his plate before Clint can play keep away in retaliation.

They settle into their breakfast, quiet as they eat, and Dean wonders if this is what normal is like.

"How long until you head back out?" Clint asks once they're down to the last bites of syrup soaked pancakes.

"To hunt?" Dean confirms. At Clint's nod he shrugs. "If something pops up Sam and I will go after it, but I don't think I'm touring the US until my team's ready."

"Your team?" Clint echoes and Dean realizes that Coulson hasn't told Clint about Dean's new assignment.

"I'm training a team of agents to deal with supernatural threats."

"So you're staying," Clint says, but he doesn't look as happy as Dean would've expected him to be.

"Yeah. I mean, I've got a job now that I'm expected to show up to."

Clint doesn't even give a half-smile to the joke, and Dean wonders if he's done something wrong. "Your stuff is still in your room."

Oh, Dean thinks, and he reaches over to put his hand on Clint's knee. "I wasn't going to move in while you were gone. If I came back from a hunt and there was someone I wasn't expecting in my room, I would shoot first, feel guilty later."

"Oh." Clint ducks his head, but not before Dean can see the slight blush rising on his cheeks.

"I'll move my stuff over before I head into SHIELD."

Clint nods and finishes up his pancakes. "I can't believe Dean Winchester is working for the government."

Dean grins and leans in for a sticky kiss. "Wait til you see me in uniform."

* * *

Dean and Clint head into SHIELD together and Dean flashes his badge at the security checkpoint and hands over Ruby's knife, and he can't help but look over at Clint like he's saying _look at me and everything I've managed to do. I'm a real person now_, and Clint smiles back at him, open and proud, and Dean's actually whistling as he heads down to room B2.

Dean's good mood doesn't diminish even though he gets his ass kicked by Tori in their mixed martial arts class. If Dean could just fight then he's sure he'd win, but he's only allowed to use certain moves, because the instructor's trying to beat five years worth of training into his head in only a month.

He's tired as he heads back to the tower, but tired in the way that a good workout makes you tired. He can feel a slight ache in his muscles, but mostly he's running on an endorphin high, and he's grinning as he tousles Sam's hair and heads into the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks looking up from the books he has spread across the living room table. Research, Dean thinks, boring.

"Of course I'm okay." Dean rummages through the cabinet until he comes up with a pudding cup. "You want one?"

Sam wrinkles his nose. "Fake pudding from a plastic container? I'm all set."

Sam's gotten even weirder about eating since they moved here. Bruce is into all this bizarre healthy stuff that he's picked up on his various trips across the globe, and he's glad to have someone to share them with. Dean goes nowhere near them; though, whenever Steve makes burgers, Dean's always in. Bruce always makes these greenish looking things that Dean's pretty sure are made out of beans and not meat, but Sam loves them. Sometimes Dean wonders if they're actually related.

"Suit yourself." Dean grabs a spoon and digs in. He probably shouldn't be eating this right now, because he has a date later tonight with Clint, they're actually going out to dinner like real normal people which is both terrifying and incredibly exciting.

Dean leans back against the counter, thinking about tonight as he eats his pudding. They've been on countless dinner dates, but that's different than actually going on a date to dinner. They're going to have to think of things to talk about for hours instead of half an hour. But on the plus side, they'll actually get to kiss when it's all over.

"You're a freak," Sam says and Dean realizes that he has a dopey grin on his face. "But you're happy."

Dean nods, still hesitant to voice that thought, because whenever things are going well is when they start getting really bad, and maybe if he never says that everything is great then nothing will ever change. Because things are good. He has a job that he doesn't hate, he still gets to fight the supernatural, and he's living with the man that he loves. He's not sure there's anything that could make him any happier than he is now, and that is what's truly terrifying, because now the only place to go is down.

"What about you?" Dean asks. "You happy?"

Sam's eyebrows rise so fast they almost fly through his hairline. "Are you seriously talking about feelings right now?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid. If Natasha isn't making you happy then I'm obligated to kick her ass. That's all."

"Uh huh." Sam is grinning as he looks over at Dean. "Clint's making you soft. It's a good look on you."

Dean sets his pudding cup down, because his reputation is one of the few things that are more important than food. "Did you just call me soft?" Dean rolls up his sleeves, giving Sam time to step away from his books so they don't get ruined in the ensuing wrestling match.

"Are you serious?" Sam groans, but there's a hint of a smile on his face as he gets up from his chair.

"I'm not soft," Dean says.

"If you throw pudding up on me, I will kill you," Sam threatens, shrugging out of his sweatshirt.

Dean grins and they lunge towards each other. Dean grabs a fistful of Sam's hair, but Sam twists Dean's arm, and they both let go after a moment only to go after each other again a moment later.

Dean has Sam firmly in a headlock and is relentlessly noogeying him demanding, "who's soft now?" when the Avengers come into the room, having returned from their daily training.

"Is everything all right?" Steve asks, eyeing them like he's not sure whether he should try and break them up.

"You just got your ass saved by Captain America," Dean says easing up on Sam. "Dunno if that means this is a win for you or not."

Sam scowls and tries to make his hair lie flat again. Thor watches them with longing for the brother he's lost.

"Are you done tormenting your brother?" Clint asks, but he's grinning as he comes up to Dean and slings an arm around his waist. "Because I remember someone promising to take me out for dinner, and I'm starving."

"Me too. Worked up an appetite kicking Sam's ass."

"Jerk!" Sam calls as Dean and Clint head towards their room.

"Bitch!" Dean cheerfully calls back.

* * *

Dean feels strange wearing a pair of jeans that aren't loose or faded with age. They're a dark wash and they don't cling, but they fit, and between the jeans and the button up shirt, and the not-diner that they're eating at, Dean feels out of place.

They're not anywhere super fancy, but there are no vinyl seats or checkerboard floors, and the waitresses are in black slacks and black button-ups instead of cliché dresses, and it's weird and unfamiliar, but when Dean looks up, Clint's sitting across the table from with, a content smile on his face, and everything feels all right again, because Clint's here with Dean, and they're doing normal couple things.

Dean orders a Coke when the waitress comes by and Clint looks over at Dean, debating for a moment, before ordering a raspberry lemonade.

"I didn't know you liked lemonade," Dean says, and it sounds stupid coming out of his mouth, and he would regret it except he's too busy thinking about all the stupid things they don't know about each other. He knows that Clint is an assassin and that he's killed his brother, and Clint knows that Dean's a hunter and died and went to hell, but until today Dean hadn't know that Clint liked lemonade.

He wonders what other little things there are for him to learn. What kind of jelly does he like on his toast? Is he the kind of person that brushes his teeth before breakfast for after? Dean hopes it's the latter, because otherwise it might be a deal breaker. He's never understood why people brush their teeth before they eat, and Sam has never given a satisfactory explanation.

"Pink's my favorite," Clint says, but he says it to his placemat, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yellow's good too. Don't like Tropicana. Pepsi makes shit drinks."

Dean's a Coke guy so he can't argue. Unsure of what to say now, Dean picks up his menu and starts flipping through it. He looks through appetizers and salads and burgers and pasta while he thinks about things he could say. He could ask about work but that sounds stupid. But there isn't really anything else to talk about. Clint hadn't done anything besides go to work today, and Dean could ask about his past, but he's not sure what to ask so they sit in somewhat uncomfortable silence until the waitress returns with their drinks.

Clint's lemonade has actual raspberries on the bottom, and Dean's too busy staring at them to realize the waitress is talking to him. He turns red and orders a steak, and stares at his Coke until Clint's straw wrapper hits the side of his face.

Dean tries to look irritated when he looks up, but he knows he's failing, because he can feel the corners of his mouth tugging up. "Really?"

"Oh, sorry, forgot that you were the pillar of maturity," Clint teases back and just like that Dean finds himself relaxing again.

* * *

They share one of those chocolate cakes with the molten chocolate middle, and then the waitress is coming over with the check and then walking away with Dean's debit card, and Dean and Clint are exchanging heated looks over the table, and Dean's trying to keep his mind out of the gutter, because they're still in the restaurant, but then Clint sweeps his tongue out to catch the chocolate at the corner of his mouth and his eyes are dark and mocking as they meet Dean's, and Dean feels desire pool in his groin.

"Here you go, Mr. Winchester," the waitress says with a bright smile. "Have a good night."

Dean's smile freezes on his face, and he looks down at the receipt, and the pen is suddenly shaking in his hand, because he's supposed to sign Dean Winchester. He's never signed his own name on a receipt in his life. He has a debit card, he's himself, not a fake name, not a disguise, and he's not quite sure what to do about that.

"Dean?" Clint asks, his voice quiet, and he's checking in, making sure Dean's okay, and Dean scrawls his name out, adds a tip, and gives Clint a shaky smile.

"I'm good," Dean says except he's not, because he feels exposed and vulnerable. He's leaving a trace, and he can be found through it, mapped through it. People can go through Dean Winchester's purchase history and figure out who he is, where he is, and he doesn't like that.

"Right," Clint says. He doesn't push it until they're outside, away from the lights of the restaurant, and walking back towards the tower. Dean's glad that they had gone somewhere in walking distance, because he's not sure he could drive right now, and he's not sure he could hand his keys over, because that would be admitting that he's not okay.

It's ridiculous that it's something so simple that's messed with him. Of all the things in the past few days that should've made him freak out, it's signing his name that's tipped him over the edge and that's embarrassing and stupid, and he wishes his hands would stop shaking.

Clint reaches out and grabs Dean's hand, lacing their fingers tightly together, and the touch helps to quell the shaking, but it doesn't stop completely, and Dean knows that Clint's noticed now.

"Want to at least tell me what triggered it?" Clint asks. "So we can avoid it in the future?"

Dean laughs, imagining telling Clint that he can't use his debit card anymore, because he can't handle signing his name on a damn receipt.

"Just getting used to some new things," Dean says and he drops Clint's hand so they can walk single file, because a woman is running with a baby jogger and needs most of the sidewalk.

"Bit late for running with a baby," Clint says, letting the subject drop which Dean is grateful for.

Dean checks his phone for the time. "Not necessarily. Baby might be having trouble sleeping. She might be running to get the baby to fall asleep." Dean can feel Clint staring at him, and he flushes. "I helped raise Sam. I know a thing or two about kids."

"You never stop surprising me," Clint says and he doesn't say it like it's a bad thing, he says it like he's pleased that there are things he doesn't know and like he enjoys what he's finding out, and Dean can't help his smile, or teasing a little.

"Same. Raspberry lemonade, really?"

Clint laughs and leans into Dean's shoulder. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Not a chance."

"See if I let you take me out on a date again."

"Aw, baby," Dean says, slipping an arm around Clint's waist, his fingers dancing up underneath the hem of his shirt. "You don't mean that." Dean, not caring that they're in the middle of the city, stop and nuzzles Clint's neck.

"I definitely do," Clint says, but he lets out a little gasp in the middle of his assertion as Dean nips at his neck.

Dean grins, knowing he's got him. "Before you decide to never date me again, why don't we finish the date?"

"We're not finished?"

Dean's fingers brush over the clasp of Clint's jeans, and Clint sucks in a harsh breath. "Not even close," Dean says.


	7. Chapter 7

Warnings: Warnings: A child dies in this chapter. It's not graphic, but it happens and then it's reflected upon so if that's triggery then skip the scene in the barn, and see the end notes for the plot things that happen. Also, Dean is an idiot, but everyone already knows that so that probably doesn't need a warning.

* * *

Dean checks his backpack for the third time. Almost everything he could possibly need is in there, but it feels weird seeing his hunting equipment stored in a backpack and strapped down for easy organization and access. Having a sturdy backpack with straps is far more useful than an old fraying duffel, but it's not familiar, and it's yet another thing that's off about this trip.

He heads down to the garage, grateful that they're at least driving even if it's a SHIELD SUV and not the Impala. Dean's not sure he could handle getting on an airplane right now. He tugs at his SHIELD issue t-shirt and tries not to look as nervous as he feels.

He's taking his team out for their first test. There are rumors of a demon in Allentown, and Dean's supposed to take his team to see if the rumors are true and if they are then they're going to deal with the demon.

Dean pauses outside the car to make sure he has plenty of loose salt in his bag as well as salt rounds. Then he checks his cell phone for the exorcism recordings. Finally, he checks his knife sheath for Ruby's knife. He has everything he needs, but he still feels like he's missing something as he waits for the last of his team to show up.

Matthew shows up last and head straight for the driver's seat.

"You're driving?" Dean asks trying to sound curious rather than surprised.

"You're not licensed for SHIELD vehicles," Matthew says and slides into the driver's seat.

Dean's going to hunt down a demon without Sam or Cas at his side, without the Impala, and without driving there himself. He doesn't like this at all.

* * *

Matthew listens to Italian opera which is the dumbest shit Dean's ever heard of, and he hadn't brought an iPod, because he hadn't envisioned a scenario where he wouldn't be driving or have control over the radio so he's pissed and unsettled when they pull up about a half mile from the warehouse.

Dean goes straight to the trunk and starts pulling out bags of salt. "I want a perimeter set up around this place. One solid ring, one wet ring. Hopefully at least one of the circles will remain unbroken."

"You think we can get it set down before it notices that it's got company?" Trevor asks.

"Keep your phones on you," Dean says instead of answering. "Make sure the exorcism is ready to play. This is a basic demon hunt. He's low leveled, and once we get the salt down he's trapped. After that, it's a matter of finishing the exorcism before he can rip any of us apart. Any questions?"

Dean looks around. Matthew looks terrified, but when he catches Dean's eye, he straightens his back. Dean gives him a brief nod. Tori slings a bag of salt over her shoulder and grins, and she reminds Dean of himself during his early hunting days, when this was something exciting, some strange form of father-son bonding. Now, hunting is a necessary burden, it's what Dean does to try and even out the scales, to try and make up for what he's done, both on Earth and in hell.

"Good, let's go." Dean grabs his bag of salt and stars the regular salt circle. Tori goes in the opposite direction so they can meet on the other side of the building. Christine and Trevor do the same thing, about a foot wider than Tori and Dean, and Matthew follows behind them with water, soaking the second salt circle into the ground.

Dean has no idea if any of this is going to work; the salt, the salt water, even the recorded exorcisms. That's one of the reasons Dean's taking his team to deal with a single demon rather than Sam, because it's the perfect opportunity to test some anti-demon measures, even if it's a bit of overkill for a single low-leveled demon.

The five of them meet up on the other side of the building and then walk with Matthew as he finishes the salt water circle, and once they're back at the car, Dean starts rummaging through his backpack for things he might need.

"Guns with salt rounds," Dean says, grabbing his shotgun and a belt of salt rounds. He pats his pocket for Ruby's knife, and he feels a little better even if he doesn't plan on using it. "Exorcism is the main attack, guns are for defense, and if worst comes to worst then we kill it. Understand?"

"Yes sir," they say and Dean makes a face, because he's used to a goofy grin and affectionate 'jerk' before running into a fight, but Sam isn't here and his team of four are so he's going to have to start getting used to it.

Dean lays out the pattern they're going in, spread out so they can distract the demon's attention and keep him from taking them all out at once. Dean creeps back to the other side of the building and then starts in on it.

It's the remnants of a barn, but it's started to rot with age, sagging in on itself and the walls, a vibrant red in another life are a dull maroon and the paint's peeling in a lot of places, exposing wet wood.

Dean slips up to a crack to peer inside and get an idea of what their demon is up to. There'd been reports of farm animals going missing which was a flag, but not a red one until word had got out that the animals were being taken to an abandoned farm and then having their necks slit.

Dean has no idea what a lone demon is up to with animal sacrifices, but whatever it is needs to be stopped. When Dean sees the six figures inside the barn he suddenly has a good idea of what the sacrifices have been for. Calling up some more demon buddies.

His test mission has now escalated into a serious threat, and he hopes that the salt circles hold up and that his team is actually ready, because the training wheels are about to come off.

Dean flips his phone open and sends out a quick text to the team.

Dean: I count 6.  
Tori: Shit just got real  
Dean doesn't think this is an appropriate time for emoticons, but at least she's ready to go.  
Dean: Count to 5 and start the exorcisms.

And hope they work, Dean thinks, but doesn't add. He counts to five, hits play on his phone and suddenly Latin is filling the barn.

The demons jerk and growl and two of them drop to the floor, writhing as they get pulled out of their hosts. Two others are fighting the exorcism and Dean pelts one of them with a round of rock salt, hoping to weaken it enough to speed up the exorcism.

Of course, he's now called attention to himself and the three demons that are still standing turn to him. One of them gets hit from the back, and she stumbles, face plants then staggers to her feet.

That's four that are definitely going to be taken out by the exorcisms. That still leaves two that are rapidly approaching Dean. He loads up another shotgun blast, but it only gives the demon on the left momentary pause, not even long enough for Dean to get another round loaded.

The second demon, a pleasant looking man that was probably a bank teller or pharmacy attendant or something nice and nondescript in real life gets hit in the shoulder, and he spins, hissing and searching for the new threat.

Two clouds of smoke go up which means there are four demons still in play, but two of them are struggling. Nondescript demon hones in on one of the phones and calls it to him and crunches it in his fist.

That's not a good development, Dean thinks and as he slips out of his hiding place. He doesn't want the ten year old girl demon finding him while he's trying to think about what to do. He's in the barn now, creeping through the hayloft, and it takes him a moment to realize that she-demon isn't stalking him anymore.

Dean spots Matthew fumbling to reload his gun and a quick glance confirms that she-demon's spotted him too. Matthew's not going to win in a fight against a she-demon powerful enough to resist an exorcism.

Dean hears another phone being crunched into oblivion and in the corner of his eye he can see one of the writhing demons start to recover himself. Oh, this is definitely not a good situation.

"Matthew!" Dean shouts. "Get your phone and your skinny ass back to the car and crank out a nice Latin lullaby for these sons of bitches."

If Matthew can get to the car then he'll be safe outside the ring of salt that's keeping the demons trapped, and the car should be able to play the exorcism loud enough.

Dean drops down from the hayloft, in the middle of the barn, and he immediately draws the attention of all four demons, even the one that's whimpering pathetically on the ground as it clings to its human host.

Dean gives them his best shit eating grin. "Miss me, guys?"

"Winchester," she-demon hisses, and she lunges.

Dean fires off a shotgun blast and starts running backwards, away from the direction Matthew's headed in. Shots start firing from other directions, the rest of his team, and Dean's grateful for the backup. And then he gets thrown into a wall, and the wood quakes with the impact, trembling like it's going to give out.

Dean slides down to the floor, and he wonders if he's about to have a barn collapse on him. He rolls out of the way in time to avoid the pitchfork she-demon's thrown, but he can't resist a joke as he springs to his feet.

"Pitchfork? Isn't that a bit cliché? Or presumptuous depending on how you view it." Dean dives behind a barrel and then rolls so when she-demon crashes down on it, she doesn't land on him too. "I heard pitchforks were for Lucifer, and you, darling, are not on his level."

"I bet I'll get a promotion once I kill you," she-demon says, pausing so she can smirk down at Dean, which is infinitely more creepy since it's coming from the face of a ten year old girl that should be at gymnastic practice and not trying to kill Dean.

"You wish you could kill me."

She grins like that's exactly what she wishes for every night, and in the distance, Dean can hear the exorcism start up again, and he has a brief moment of relief before she-demon starts slinking towards him, and Dean wonders if he should pull out the knife or wait and see if the exorcism has any effect.

She-demon pauses and, like she knows Dean's debate, raises impossibly wide, impossibly childlike eyes up to meet his, and Dean falters, because there's a little girl in there, and he can't kill her until he at least tries to save her.

And then she-demon smirks and pounces, pressing Dean down into the floor of the barn, one hand pressed firmly against his neck.

"You've gotten soft," she-demon taunts, pushing down hard enough that Dean's struggling to drag in enough air to breathe let alone talk. "You really did let Alastair get to you. Wonder what'll happen to you once he gets you for eternity."

She grins and bears down, hand crushing Dean's throat and he has a moment of _panicnopleasedon'tpleaseanythingbutgoingback _as his vision starts to go, and then she-demon is jerking and twisting, and her hand is easing up, and Dean can breathe. Once he can see again, he spots Tori standing five feet away from them, firing rounds off into she-demon's head.

"I would suggest killing her before I run out of bullets."

Dean wheezes and pulls out the knife and plunges it through she-demon's chest. The demon crackles and hisses and disappears before Dean can put enough breath to give a smart ass remark. And then the host body falls limp, and Dean realizes that he's just killed a ten year old girl.

"Shit," he says voice raspy. He takes a moment to look around and make sure all the demons have been taken care of. There are five other bodies on the floor, but their chests are moving up and down, breathing. Unlike the body in front of Dean. "Shit."

"Hey." Tori reaches out a hand, but Dean slaps it away. He's just killed a kid. He doesn't want her sympathy.

"Get the ones who are still living to the car. We'll drop them off at a hospital or clinic or something," Dean says and Tori gives a sharp nod and goes to do as she's told, no more questions, no prodding, no wheedling to talk about feelings. Dean's suddenly grateful that Sam isn't on this trip.

Dean lifts the girl's body with ease and drapes her over his shoulder. "I'll be at the car once I'm done," he says, giving no further detail, but he assumes they'll figure out that he's going to salt and burn her bones.

He grabs a shovel on the way out, because he's also going to bury her. He walks until the barn is small, and he can't hear the voices of his team members, because he needs to be alone. They're SHIELD agents, not hunters, and he knows that they can't kill with a clean conscience, but he also knows that they don't understand what he's going through.

Dean hunts by two rules; kill evil and protect humans, and the second is just as important as the first. Dean gently places the girl on the ground and starts to dig a shallow grave. He wonders how long her parents are going to search for her before they decide that she's dead. He wonders if they'll ever truly accept the fact that she's gone without a body. He wonders how many years they're going to spend blaming themselves, if it's going to split up their marriage or wreck their family. He wonders how he's going to be able to sleep tonight.

Dean tosses a shovelful of dirt over his shoulder. He knows that it was a kill or be killed situation, but he lived and the girl died, and he doesn't think that's a fair trade. She's innocent, she had so much life left ahead of her. Dean's lived enough, and he's screwed up enough that he should be the one on the ground with the warmth of life slowly seeping from his body.

No, his mind counters. You killed a demon, you rescued your team, that makes it okay. He was the only one with something that could kill a demon which meant they'd all be dead if he hadn't killed the she-demon except maybe Matthew if he chose to run instead of stepping back inside the circles.

Dean brushes aside those thoughts, because he doesn't want to be okay with taking a life. He doesn't want to make her death okay, because that cheapens her life, and absolves him of responsibility, and he doesn't deserve that.

"That grave's a bit excessive, you know."

Dean's head snaps up, and he reaches for Ruby's knife even though he knows it isn't going to do any good against the smirking demon in front of him. Crowely is standing at the edge of the grave, and Dean realizes that he's now knee deep in a grave that isn't even going to be holding a body, just ashes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean demands, his throat still sore from almost being choked to death. He raises his shovel like he's thinking about hitting Crowley with it.

Crowley shrugs. "Heard there was a demon in Winchester territory and thought I'd pop by for a visit."

Dean's on edge from killing, on edge from Alastair being mentioned (the second demon to mention him which makes Dean uneasy) and Dean's so not in the mood for more demon bullshit. Dean steps out of the grave and eases the girl's body in.

"Here," Crowley offers a small container of gasoline right as Dean realizes that he has matches but nothing to use as an accelerant.

Dean eyes the offering with suspicion. "I know better than to take anything from you. You'll probably claim my soul in exchange."

"Don't sell yourself short, your soul is worth more than a container of gasoline," Crowley says, and he's grinning a bit. When Dean's expression doesn't change, Crowley lets out a little huff. "You are being obstinate, you know that? Take it as a gesture of goodwill."

Dean continues to frown, and Crowley rolls his eyes before uncapping the gasoline and pouring it over the body.

"What are you playing at?" Dean asks. "Why are you here, and why are you acting all un-demonlike?"

"I'm here because I wanted to talk to you, and you've warded yourself very nicely in your new home."

"You want to talk to me?" Dean tries hard not to think too much about the fact that Crowley knows where he lives. Knows and has been scouting it.

"We have something in common," Crowley says and Dean's almost comforted by the way he settles into King of the Crossroads mode, because at least Crowley's acting like he's supposed to.

"We have nothing in common."

Crowley ignores that little outburst and continues. "You hate Alastair," Dean flinches at the name, "and I'm not a fan of him. I think we can work together."

Dean laughs, because Crowley wants Dean to kill Alastair for him? Fuck that. If Crowley wants Alastair dead then he can do it himself. Dean isn't doing favors for demons, and he's certainly not making any deals.

"This is not a laughing matter," Crowley says and he's suddenly completely serious. "With Lucifer still imprisoned, Alastair is in charge of hell, and he wants you back."

Dean refuses to look afraid, refuses to give in, because that would showing weakness. Only, everyone knows that Alastair is Dean's weakness, especially everyone in hell. It's no secret that Dean broke and that Alastair was the one to break him. And apparently, demon mission #1 is now to get Dean back to hell.

The problem with Crowley, Dean thinks as they stand facing each other, a grave between them, is that he didn't get to be King of the Crossroads on accident. He's good at getting what he wants, he's the best, and Dean has no idea what Crowley wants out of Alastair's death, but there's no denying that Dean wants, possibly even needs, Alastair dead.

"I'm not agreeing," Dean says and Crowley's lips twitch like he's trying not to smile. Dean scowls. "But say I did, I have no way to kill Alastair. I have the knife, but he's not going to let me walk up to him and stab him."

"You have the Colt."

Dean can't believe he's even considering this. He should know better than to make deals with demons. He does know better. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

Crowley picks at his fingernails. "I don't like getting my hands dirty." He ignores Dean's snort of laughter. "Besides, it's bad for demons to be killing each other. Much better to hire an outside contractor."

"So what do you get out of it?"

Crowley gives a dismissive shrug. "Lets me take out a rival without looking like I'm a bad guy. Look," Crowley fixes Dean with a level stare. "We're not in the hypothetical, however much you want to pretend. You want Alastair dead, and I want Alastair dead and I can help you kill him so you're going to say yes."

"I'm not making any deals with you," Dean says. "I'm not stupid."

Crowley gives him a look that says _yes you are, and desperate too_, but he doesn't articulate it. "We have to deal."

Dean takes a step back. "Guess you're not getting my help then."

"You're an idiot," Crowley says, "get back here. We don't have to deal for your soul, but we do have to deal. That's the way it works."

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, not quite willing to stalk off as much as he wants to, because if Crowley can help him kill Alastair then Dean can't say no. Alastair is running hell right now, and having a crazy torture happy son of a bitch in charge is not ideal. Especially one that has it out for Dean. If Alastair is sticking all of hell on his tail then he's a danger to everyone around him until Alastair is gone.

"So I agree to kill Alastair if you agree to help?" Dean frowns. "You get the better end of that deal."

"Of course I do, I'm king." Crowley smirks.

"No, we need precision," Dean says, because he's learned a few things from dealing with demons. He ignores the part of his mind that tells him he's being colossally stupid and ignores the other part that's telling him to call for Cas, because Cas can help him through this, but Dean's afraid that Crowley will leave, and Dean needs him if he wants Alastair dead.

"Okay, so you agree to help me," Dean says, "and I agree to do my best to have Alastair taken out. I'm not promising that it'll be me, because it could be Sam or Cas or hell, even someone from SHIELD, and I'm not going to get screwed over on a technicality like that."

Crowley frowns. "That's too vague. How do I know that you'll actually make an effort?"

"How do I know that you'll actually be helpful?" Dean shoots back. "Look, I have a damn good reason to want Alastair dead. If we're in the same room, and I have the means to kill him, I'm taking him out. You can trust that."

Crowley ponders it. "Fine. Consequences."

"No," Dean says, automatic. He's not going to risk getting dragged back to hell, even for a shot at killing Alastair.

"Yes." Crowley stares him down. "It doesn't have to as drastic as your soul, but there has to be something."

"I'll walk away," Dean says and he means it. "And the next demon I see, I'll tell him to tell Alastair that you're gunning for him."

There's something almost like pride on Crowley's face as he regards Dean, and Dean's stomach twists, disgusted with himself. "Fine but I want a vow of silence. Neither of us can mention the deal to anyone else. And there will be no consequences for breaking, because it will be physically impossible for you to say it."

Dean can agree to that, and it's not like he wants anyone knowing that he's making more demon deals; though, he wonders how that's going to work with Cas. Cas always knows what Dean's up to.

"It will be shielded from your angel," Crowley says, doing that creepy mind reading thing again. "Do we have a de—an arrangement?"

Dean knows that calling it an arrangement instead of deal makes no difference, but it makes him feel better, makes him feel less guilty.

"Yeah, we've got an arrangement."

And before Dean can protest, Crowley's leaning in, careful not to fall into the grave, and kissing Dean. It takes a moment for Dean to realize what's going on and that Crowley's trying to work his tongue into Dean's mouth, and Dean bites his tongue, feeling a bit of smug satisfaction as Crowley pulls back with a muttered curse.

"You bit me!"

"There was no need for tongue."

Crowley looks like he's pouting as he reaches into his pocket. "I don't know how you got a boyfriend with technique like that."

And before Dean can fire off a comeback, Crowley's dropping a lit match into the grave and disappearing.

Dean takes a deep breath and heads back to the car, trying to convince himself that he's done nothing wrong. He's not trading for his soul or anything, and really it's going to be a good thing, because Alastair will be gone.

He's grateful that his team doesn't try and talk to him during the hour and a half trip back.

* * *

Two days after the mission—the hunt—and Dean's still feeling on edge. He's pretty sure everyone has been giving him suspicious looks since he got back, and at one point he actually tried to tell Cas everything, because Cas was staring at him like there was something wrong, and he couldn't put his angelic finger on it, so Dean had opened his mouth to say _I'm so sorry, but I needed to do this, and it won't hurt anyone I swear_, but nothing came out, so then Dean just teased him about Steve and went along his way.

What's worse than the imaginary looks, is the nightmares. Dean's started dreaming about hell again and every once in a while, he'll stop what he's doing, convinced that he hears a hellhound. He supposes this is his punishment for making another deal, and he can't complain to anyone or confide in them, not that he would. He made this decision, and he'll deal with the consequences. He only hopes that at the end of it, when Alastair is dead, all these nightmares will finally be put to rest.

"I'm in trouble," Sam says without preamble. He bursts into Clint and Dean's suite and throws himself down on the couch.

Dean's lounging in the recliner, and he looks up from his car magazine long enough to give Sam a _you're kidding me, right?_ look before going back to the cars.

Clint's at the shooting range, because he goes every day at the same time like clockwork, and Dean always uses this time to do something quiet like flip through a magazine or clean his guns, and Dean tries not to think too hard about how domestic this is, how they know each other's routines and navigate around each other's space.

"You're not going to ask me what's going on?" Sam throws his arms over the leg of the couch so his gargantuan body can fully sprawl out. "I thought you were supposed to be my protective older brother?"

"This sounds like emotional trouble," Dean says but his fingers twitch, wanting to put the magazine down, because for all that Dean hates feelings and Sam's stupid talks, his urge to protect Sam wins out over anything else. Plus, if he's being honest, he's feeling a little guilty about making the deal and not being able to tell Sam. "Not my division," Dean says, careful not to show any signs that he's giving in, because he has a reputation to uphold.

"Well, it's not Cas's," Sam says and they share a laugh at that thought, "and I'm not going to call Bobby up for help so that leaves you."

"I'm third string?" Dean sets his magazine down, giving up the pretense of reading. "I'm hurt, Sammy."

Sam makes a face. "Don't call me that. I think I like Natasha."

Dean groans and throws his arm over his head. "We're not middle school girls, Sam. We're not having this conversation."

"I like her," Sam repeats, determined to soldier on. "And I don't know what to do."

Dean's still covering his face. "Why are you talking to me about this?" Forget hell flashbacks, this is Dean's real punishment for making deals with demons. Next time he sees Crowley, he's going to punch him in the face, because Dean's convinced that he's somehow behind it.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sam rolls his eyes when Dean doesn't respond. "Dean, there are three people in my life that I talk to. One, our gruff hunter friend who had to kill his own wife so not exactly going to ask him for love advice. Two, Castiel who is an angel of the Lord who has a crazy devotion to you and a creepy fascination with an American icon so not going to him. And then there's you."

Sam pauses like he's not sure he should keep talking, and Dean peeks his eyes over his arm to raise his eyebrows in a 'go on' gesture.

Sam motions to around him to the signs of two people living together; Clint's meeting notebook next to Dean's worn copy of John's journal on the desk, the two sets of boots by the door, the fact that there aren't food wrappers everywhere, because Dean respects Clint's space.

"You're in a stable relationship. I was there when you told him you loved him. You've been through this."

Dean goes from mildly annoyed to trying not to have a full out panic attack, because Sam's right. Dean's been seeing all the signs of domesticity, but he's been ignoring them for his own sanity, because Dean never thought he'd actually be able to settle down, to make a home, and that's exactly what he's doing right now with Clint. They're figuring out a life together, not just occupying the same space, but sharing it in the way that two people who are close to each other do.

"This is so wrong," Dean says, not sure whether he's talking about Sam's continued pleas for help or how his own life has so drastically changed. Dean does the mature thing by pulling his knees up to his chest like that will protect him from his sudden epiphany or Sam's relentless requests for help.

"You don't have to tell me that," Sam snaps and Dean remembers that it used to be Sam who had everything together while Dean was a wreck. Sam who was sweeping through college with friends and good grades and a future as a lawyer and with Jessica, and then that all got taken away from him and replaced with shitty motel rooms and long road trips, and one loss after another, and Dean can't help but feel responsible for that even though he knows that Azazel had been manipulating Sam's life since he was born, trying to craft him into the perfect vessel for Lucifer.

"You don't need my help," Dean eventually says, because Sam's genuinely upset instead of being annoying. Sam's head snaps up like he can't believe Dean's actually going to help him, and Dean shifts, uncomfortable, because he really doesn't want to be helping. "Look, you came in here and said you thought you liked her and then you said you did like her and then you said you loved her. I don't think you need any help figuring out how you feel."

"I know how I feel," Sam says. "I don't know what to do about it."

"Well," Dean reaches for his magazine, glad that their almost a moment has been disrupted. "I'm officially out of my depth."

Sam sighs but doesn't look like he's going to push any further. "I'm afraid."

Dean smiles at that. "Of course you are. It's a terrifying feeling." Dean thinks about when he'd headed back to Clint's room after the Chi'tauri invasion. It was more than two guys who were into each other going off for a fun night, and the thought that they were going to give them a try was both heart racingingly nerve-wracking and oddly calming. "It's also pretty damn awesome. You'll figure it out. You're a smart kid."

Dean picks his magazine up again, putting an end to the conversation.

* * *

A/N: This is at the end, because I didn't want to ruin the Crowley surprise. So obviously all the Season 5 Crowley stuff didn't happen, because Season 5 never happened, but the boys still had to get the Colt from him in order to shoot Lilith with it in the previous story (even though that didn't get it's own scene, sorry). So, the boys know Crowley but don't _know_ him. Pretty much, he's a demon and he makes deals. That should be explained well enough in the story, but I figured I'd highlight it just in case there was any confusion.

Chapter 7 Summary: Dean works with his new team, angsts a lot about killing, angsts about how he thinks he's going back to hell when he dies,


	8. Chapter 8

A/N:Dean has some self-worth issues (big shock to everyone, I know) and they get explored (a lot) in this chapter. Dean somehow has become a relationship counselor. Cas shows up naked in showers.

PS Everything I know about Top Gear comes from this Tumblr I follow, so really I know nothing except there are cars and funny people. So I apologize in advance.

* * *

Dean knows that it's a guilty conscious and a dash of paranoia that's making him twitchy, but he's positive that Cas knows what's going on. Dean will be doing something perfectly ordinary—making a sandwich, kicking Thor's ass at N64—and he'll look up, and Cas will be staring at him, head tilted ever so gently to the side like he can coax the secrets out of Dean's head.

Dean tries hard not to make eye contact, because he knows that his guilt has to be obvious in his eyes, and it wouldn't even matter if Cas found out that something was wrong, because Dean can't tell him exactly what it is, and it isn't even like anything is wrong. Dean's made a deal—an arrangement—but it's not going to hurt anyone. Well, it'll hurt Alastair, but that's the point of the whole deal. Dean's not getting dragged to hell, his firstborn isn't going to be infected with demon blood, there's no catch.

Okay, so that's what's gotten Dean all worried. There's no obvious catch, and there's always some sort of catch when it comes to demons, and Dean would feel a lot better if he just knew what it was.

So Dean feels a little guilty and a lot relieved when Cas announces that he's taking a brief trip to heaven to recharge and disappears. Dean now has a couple days where he doesn't have to worry about what emotions his face is projecting, and he plans on enjoying them by sprawling out in the common room and watching Top Gear reruns whenever he's not at SHIELD.

Dean's peace is interrupted during the opening credits when Steve comes into the room looking like he's going to linger. Dean's curling up so he doesn't take up the entire couch, but Steve still sits down in the arm chair.

Dean resolves to ignore him and keep watching. Two dudes can sit in a room and watch TV together. Even if they've never done this before and Steve's probably pining after Cas. Dean does his best not to think about Steve and Cas for two reasons. There's the obvious, he never wants to think about Cas naked and the then the not so obvious, Dean's jealous.

It's stupid and petty and selfish, and Dean feels like a terrible person, because he is a terrible person, but Cas is his angel. He searched for Dean in hell, pulled him out, knit him back together, he's like Dean's personal guardian angel and one of Dean's closest friends, and now suddenly Cas has met Captain America, and Dean can't compete with that.

It's not that Dean's jealous of their romantic tryst, because that's definitely not the case, but Cas had been the first person to care about Dean the most. Dean knows that John always loved Sam more even if they fought all the time, Dean was the constant, the one that John could depend on so he didn't need to love him to make him stay, and wasn't that a familiar pattern? Sam was the special one, the one everyone cared about, and Dean didn't mind being second best until Cas came along and made Dean first, and now Dean's being replaced by virtue incarnate, and it makes sense, because Dean's shattered and broken and imperfect, and of course an angel wouldn't want that, but it still hurts.

Dean tries to focus on the TV and Richard Hammond, but he keeps feeling Steve looking at him, keeps seeing the other man shifting like he's nervous or wants to talk about something, and this is not how this evening was supposed to go.

Sam is off with Natasha, because they're apparently fine now (another relationship Dean absolutely does not want to examine too closely), and Cas is in heaven, and Clint is away on some stupid training weekend, and Dean was going to relax, but it's probably a crime or something to ignore Captain America so Dean punches the mute button with his thumb and turns to look at Steve.

"There something you want to talk about?"

A brief moment of indecision flickers in Steve's eyes. "You're very direct." When Dean doesn't say anything Steve steels himself and forces himself to continue. "I want to talk to you about Cas."

Steve's eyes drop down, and there's a bit of a blush rising on his cheeks, and Dean can't believe that this is his life. First he had to talk to Sam about Natasha and now he has to talk to Steve about Cas? Since when is he Dr. Love?

"Will I get arrested if I say no?" Dean jokes, and almost immediately Steve looks so stricken that Dean quickly backtracks. "Woah, kidding. Totally kidding. A little high strung, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry," Steve says and he actually seems sorry. "This is all new to me, and I'm not very good at it. I mean, I was kind of with this dame during the war, but we only kissed once and we had a date planned, but I missed it, and then I woke up and everyone was dead, and now there's Cas, and I have absolutely no experience with relationships, and he's an angel which makes everything even more complicated, and I'm babbling now which is an embarrassing nervous habit of mine so if you want to stop me that'd be great."

Steve pauses to take a breath, and Dean just stares at him, slack jawed, because he spent his childhood flipping through Captain America comics and looking up to him, and the guy is nervous about dating which is hilarious, but Dean feels like this probably isn't an appropriate time to laugh.

"All right." Dean waves his hand and tries to look put upon. "What's the problem?" Dean's going to have start charging if this keeps up.

Steve hesitates, and Dean doesn't want to rush him, except he really does, because Dean has so many things he'd rather be doing than discussing Captain America's relationship with Dean's guardian angel.

"He's," Steve pauses and Dean bites back congratulating on him getting one word out, because that's rude, and he can see the wheels turning into Steve's head as he tries to describe Cas. "He's overwhelming," Steve finally says, and it's one word, but it's perfect, and Dean can't do anything but nod.

"He's incredible," Steve hurries to say like he's afraid Dean will punch him if he says something wrong. "But sometimes," Steve pauses and looks at Dean like he's willing him to understand, "He knows everything."

"Yeah."

Steve leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I mean _everything_. He can look at me and know what I'm thinking, and I have no idea if he can actually read my mind or if my face gives everything away, but sometimes I feel like there's nothing he doesn't know, and it's not like I'm keeping secrets or there are things I'm trying to hide but," Steve pauses and waves his hands around like that will help him communicate what he's trying to say.

Dean waits a moment before simply saying, "I know," because he does know. Cas is Cas, and incredible is the best word he can think of to describe him, and Dean understands what Steve is going through, because Dean's been going through the same thing since he's met Cas. Cas knows everything, and it's wonderful sometimes and frustrating at others.

Dean still remembers the first time he met Castiel, and Dean had been terrified at what might have pulled him from hell, and his fears hadn't been put to rest when a dude in a trench coat blew open the doors of the barn and claimed to be an angel of the Lord. Dean turned his fear into anger, and he tried to kill Cas, and he snapped at him, and Cas just tilted his head to the side and saw through all of Dean's bullshit and said _you don't think you deserve to be saved?_ Cas found Dean's deepest fear, the one thing he would never confess to Bobby or Sam or even Clint all within seconds of meeting Dean face to face.

"It's just," Steve pauses, drops his eyes from Dean's face, "sometimes, I don't want to talk about something or I'm trying to avoid something, and I can't, because he knows, and he wants to fix things, and I shouldn't get frustrated, but—"

Dean grins, catching Steve off guard. "Dude, you're talking to the guy who has turned avoidance into an art form. No such thing as avoidance when you're dealing with Cas." Except now, because Dean has a secret, something Cas doesn't know, something that Crowley's managed to hide and bury so Cas won't find out, and Dean thought he'd be relieved to finally have some part of him that's a secret, that isn't an open book for Cas to read, but it makes him sick.

"Yeah," Steve says and the worry drops off his face, replaced with a dopey smile that Dean doesn't want to read too much into. "It's just unsettling sometimes how he knows what I'm feeling before I realize I'm feeling it, but I guess angels don't have to puzzle out emotion so he doesn't understand why I'm so slow sometimes to figure things out." Steve laughs and leans back into his chair. "And I guess no relationship can be perfect."

"If I had a beer I'd drink to that," Dean says because imperfect relationships are something Dean's an expert in.

"Why don't I go get some." Steve jumps to his feet. "My thanks for you putting up with me."

Before Dean can protest, Steve's in the kitchen, grabbing a six pack and they spend the next half hour in companionable silence, watching Top Gear and sipping beer.

* * *

Dean had been enjoying a nice Saturday morning watching stupid cartoons in the living room, Clint's head resting on his lap, before Pepper decided to interrupt his lazy morning (not cuddle time as Sam likes to call it).

She thought it would be good for everyone, the Avengers and Team Supernatural, to have lunch together which meant pizza, and Dean's annoyed because he likes pizza so he can't even be mad that Pepper swooped in and turned off the TV and demanded his full attention so she could figure out what kind of pizza to get.

"Meat supreme," Dean says, his hands still carding gently through Clint's hair.

"Ew," Sam says having appeared in the room at the mention of food. "Veggie delight."

"You're ridiculous," Dean says, and he wants to stand up and have this conversation while shouting so they can end the debate by wrestling with the winner picking the pizza, but Dean doesn't want to disturb Clint. "Who gets vegetables on pizza? That defeats the purpose of pizza. It's not supposed to be good for you."

"Some of us actually care about our health," Sam says, as primly and patronizing as possible. "We're getting vegetable."

"Nothing green belongs on my pizza."

"Nothing boiled in fat and dripping with grease belongs on mine."

Sam and Dean stare each other down until Bruce clears his throat, because of everyone in the tower, Bruce is the most uncomfortable with the way that Sam and Dean behave around each other.

"You could go half and half," Bruce suggests and Dean wonders when he showed up.

"No," both brothers say and then they glare at each other, because they're not supposed to be agreeing right now.

"What about mushroom and pepperoni?" Pepper asks. She looks around, getting vague nods from everyone except for Tony and Natasha, and she ignores Tony, because she knows he's going to order a Hawaiian and that's fine.

"What about you?" Pepper asks Natasha. "What kind do you want? We can get more than one kind, despite what those two think." She gives both Sam and Dean a patented Pepper glare, but they're too busy making faces at each other to properly appreciate it.

"I don't like pizza," Natasha says.

"What?" Tony's head snaps up from his tablet, this statement enough of a crime to pull his attention away from possible modifications to the quinjet. "You don't like pizza? How do you not like pizza? Everyone likes it. No, everyone loves it!"

Natasha's lips turn down in the smallest of frowns. "Love is for children." It's a statement of fact, of character, with none of the humor of Tony's prodding, and Dean's still making faces at Sam so he sees the bitch face dissolve into something pained for a brief second before Sam's trying—too hard—to seem unaffected.

Shit, Dean thinks, because there's no way this is going to end well. He knows that Sam, for some reason he still hasn't figured out, is in love with Natasha, and Sam doesn't do relationships halfway. Dean tried to explain to Sam the wonders of one night stands and flings, but Sam's a commitment kind of guy. He finds someone and pours everything he's got into making it work, but Dean's not sure Sam's going to be able to make this one work.

"Guess I'm a child then," Sam says, but his tone is too light, too nonchalant. "I'm going to go make some Mac 'n Cheese."

"Don't be an idiot." Dean gives Clint's head a little nudge, because he's pretty sure he's about to be on big brother duty. "We're going to get a veggie delight, and you're going to stay for pizza. Didn't you hear Pepper earlier? Necessary tower bonding.

Sam flips Dean off and storms down the hall.

"Are you serious?" Dean jumps to his feet to follow him. "This is so you! I finally agree with you and you prance off. I don't even know why I put up with you!"

"Then don't!" Sam shouts back and then slams Natasha's door in Dean's face.

Dean takes a deep breath, and then starts pounding on the door and threatening to break it down if Sam doesn't open it this instant.

* * *

Dean's finishing up his post-workout shower when Cas appears in the middle of the locker room. Dean hears the ruffle of wings and has a moment to think _you have got to be kidding me_ before Trevor shouts, "what the hell!", and Matthew backpedals so fast he slams his back against the wall.

"Really?" Dean asks turning around. He gives Cas a look that should effectively communicate the wide depth of emotions Dean is feeling right now. And, because he always notices the important things, he raises his eyebrows at the sight of Cas standing under a stream of water, his clothes getting soaked through. "You're in your trench coat, really?"

"Would you prefer me to be naked?"

Dean's afraid to say yes, because Cas doesn't always get sarcasm, so he settles for an eye roll and shuts his shower off instead. "You can't just appear unannounced while people are showering, Cas."

"Human nudity does not alarm me."

Somewhere behind Dean, Matthew gives a small squeak. "It bothers other people," Dean says and he grabs a towel and slings it around his waist. "So what was so urgent that you had to show up in the middle of my shower?"

"I believe Steve is distressed with me."

"Oh, I am so not wearing enough clothes for this conversation," Dean says and he stomps over to his locker, wondering when the hell he became Mr. Relationship Expert. The minute Tony comes to him for advice, Dean is moving out of the tower.

Dean hesitates for a moment before dropping his towel and grabbing his clothes from his locker. Cas knit Dean's body back together after his trip to hell so it's not like Dean naked is anything new for Cas.

Dean pulls on his jeans and his t-shirt and tosses his towel into the wet towel hamper before motioning to the door. "Let's find someplace that isn't the men's locker room to have this conversation."

"Your hair is wet," Cas says as Dean shoves the door open. He touches a hand to Dean's head and suddenly Dean's hair is dry.

Dean doesn't even bother explaining that that isn't normal human behavior. He just ignores Tori's filthy wink and Christine's confused frown, and heads down the hall to an empty meeting room.

Dean throws himself down into one of the chairs, and he feels a little guilty for his current maturity level, because it isn't like Cas can go to his angel buddies for relationship advice, but Dean doesn't want to be Cas's how-to-be-a-human guide. Dean isn't exactly a model human, and Cas deserves to be better than that.

"So what's wrong?" Dean asks.

Cas hovers by the door, looking more uncomfortable than he has in a while. It makes him look both more and less human.

"I believe I have upset him."

Dean closes his eyes and wonders if he prays for patience if Cas will intercept the prayer. That would probably be super awkward so Dean just settles for hoping that he finds the patience to make it through this conversation.

"Do you know how?" Dean asks and his voice is minimally sarcastic.

"He finds my knowledge of him to be alarming. I have informed him that I am not omniscient, simply observant, but it does not appear to have helped. I do not understand why he is upset. I thought that two people who are in a relationship should know everything about each other."

Dean thinks about all the secrets he's keeping from Clint, the ones he's keeping from Sam, the one he's keeping from Cas, and Dean tries to smile. "Not always everything, but I don't think that's where the problem is exactly."

Cas frowns.

"Look," Dean waves his hand around, but Cas doesn't appear to have gained sudden understanding from the gesture. "There's a difference between knowing something and being told something."

Cas tilts his head to the side. "I do not understand."

"Okay. So, you know everything about Steve, but not because he's told you. Humans put meaning into telling each other things. It's a sign of trust that they're choosing to tell you about parts of themselves. It's not you knowing that's upsetting Steve, but that he's not the one who's telling you."

"But he is telling me. His face and his eyes and the way his voice sounds."

"It's not the same," Dean says, and he's not sure how else he can explain so he gives Cas a moment to try and puzzle it out.

"Humans do not have control over their bodies in the same way they have control of their voices," Cas finally says. "When he uses words to tell me things, it is deliberate and therefore has extra significance?"

"Yes. People telling you things is a sign of trust." Scenes from hell flashes through Dean's mind, and then Alastair's face bleeds into Crowley's, and Dean feels his gut twist, because here he is lecturing Cas on trust and relationships, all while he's lying to everyone he cares about.

"Dean?" Cas has shifted from his puzzled face to his concerned face, and he's directing all his attention on Dean, reading him, and Dean has to fight not shift uncomfortably, because that's a sign of guilt, and he also has to fight the urge to run away, because Cas came here to talk about his problems, but at the first sign that something's wrong with Dean he completely shifts gears, even though Dean is a lying screwed up mess.

Dean drags a hand down his face. "Fine, Cas. Anymore relationship questions?"

"You are distressed."

"Yes."

"But," Cas is drawing his words out slowly like he's trying to feel out if he's doing the right thing, "according to human customs, I should wait for you to tell me what is bother you, because that is a sign of trust and a healthy relationship." Cas's face lights up into a brilliant _be proud of me_ smile, and Dean feels another stab of guilt.

"Yeah," Dean says, giving Cas an encouraging nod. "You paid attention while I was talking. It's nothing important."

"You are upset. That makes it important to me."

Dean doesn't deserve Cas. He doesn't deserve an angel to love him unconditionally, to have such faith in him. Dean's broken and corrupted and he's a liar and he's so human that he doesn't deserve Cas, and he doesn't know what he'll do when Cas finally realizes that and leaves.

"It's Alastair," Dean finally says, because that's at least the partial truth.

"Ah." Cas crosses the distance between them and lays a hand on Dean's shoulder, and the press of Cas's fingers through Dean's shirt shouldn't be as comforting as they are, but Dean wants nothing more than to curl up in Cas's arms and have Cas tell him that it's going to be okay.

"The past two demon encounters I've had," Dean pauses and Cas's hand squeezes his shoulder, "they've mentioned him. He's messing with me."

"I know." Cas lays his other hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean should feel uneasy that someone's at his back, that someone is looming over him, but it's Cas so he feels protected. "Alastair is in charge of hell, and he has made no secret of the fact that he desires your soul."

Again, Dean thinks but doesn't say. He doesn't say much of anything, because it's one thing for Dean to think that Alastair's gunning for him, and one thing for a demon, even Crowley, to say that Alastair wants him, but in Cas's voice? It makes it real, inevitable, and Dean doesn't speak, because he's afraid his voice will break or that he'll get choked up and give away how afraid he is.

"He will not succeed," Cas says.

"You don't know that," Dean says. "He might. And if we kill him, what does it matter?" Dean rips away from Cas. "Another demon is just going to take his place and apparently Sam and I have been marked so then he's going to come after us. It's never going to end."

Cas is in Dean's space in an instant, and Dean steps back, but hits the table, and Cas continues to lean in until his eyes are only inches from Dean's. "He will not succeed," Cas repeats and it sounds almost like a threat. "We will deal with his successor when the time comes, but as far as I am aware, Crowley bears you no particular ill will."

Dean's comment about personal space dies on his lips. Did Cas just say that Crowley is Alastair's successor? Son of a bitch. Dean blows by Cas, because he needs to get away from Cas before he reads something Dean doesn't want him do, and because Dean needs to get outside. He needs fresh air. He needs a tree to bash his head against.

He'd been played. Of course he'd been played, he was making deals with the freaking King of the Crossroads. Alastair isn't a rival, he's _the _rival. Dean's agreed to instate Crowley as head demon in hell. Freaking fantastic.

"Dean?" Cas calls, concerned. "Did I do something wrong?"

Dean pauses in the doorway and looks back. Cas's trench coat is hanging loose off his shoulders, and his eyes are downcast, not meeting Dean's in what must be first for their relationship, and he's never looked more fragile, and it's all Dean's fault.

"No," Dean says and when Cas still doesn't look up, Dean walks over, grabs Cas by the shoulders, and shakes him. "You didn't do anything wrong. You never do anything wrong."

That's my job in this relationship, Dean thinks as Cas slowly raises his eyes. I screw up, and you fix it, fix me, and I have no idea why.

"Dean," Cas says, hand reaching towards his face.

Dean twists away. "I have an appointment with Tony. Text me if you have any more problems with Steve."

* * *

Dean doesn't actually have an appointment with Tony, but he does need to see the inventor, and it was a convenient excuse to get away from Cas, because Dean's emotions are way too close to the surface right now.

He finds Tony in his workshop back at the tower, and Tony's leaning against a wall, tinkering with what looks like a piece of the Iron Man armor and chatting with one of his robots. Tony looks up at Dean's entrance, and his face breaks out into a grin.

"Heard your angel paid you a visit in the shower today."

"Not my angel," Dean says, and he has no idea how that news has spread already and right now he doesn't really care. "I heard you're the weapons expert."

The smile immediately drops off Tony's face. "Not anymore."

"I don't want bombs or missiles," Dean says. He pulls Ruby's knife out of its sheath and slams it down on the workbench in front of him. "I want more of these. Demon knives."

"No can do." Tony doesn't look up from his work. "I'm out of the business."

"Then get back in the business. Apocalypse was prevented, but the demons have already moved on. They still want to see the human race corrupted, and right now all we've got on our side is one knife that only kills some demons, an angel that can only kill some demons, and a single gun that can kill any demon. That's one weapon and two maybes against the legions of hell. Not very good odds for the human race."

"You have the exorcisms."

"Temporary," Dean counters. "They only work on some demons, and all they do is send them back to hell to be pissed and plot a better course of action for next time. If you're feeling guilty about your previous weapons then build something that will actually help put an end to evil."

Dean needs more knives. He needs everyone on his team to carry one, and he needs Tony to figure out how they work so he can make more powerful ones. The Colt is the only guaranteed way to kill Alastair, but Dean can't risk carrying it everyone with him, because he can't lose it. He needs a back-up which means he needs Tony Stark to get on board.

Tony looks up, the corners of his mouth pinched. "You're a dick, you know that?"

"Sticks and stones."

"Right." Tony sets his project down. "Bruce said he liked you." Dean doesn't care about Bruce. He cares about killed Alastair. He wonders if the Hulk could kill him, and immediately dismisses the thought. He's not pulling anyone else into this mess. "Said you were kindred spirits or something stupid."

"And wrong," Dean adds. "We're nothing alike." Dean misses the way Tony's eyes snap to his, barely contained fury burning in them. "The Hulk was an accident. Bruce didn't ask for it, didn't do anything to deserve it, it was just shit luck. I brought all my misery down on myself." And he just keeps on screwing up. Dean made the deal even though he knew it was wrong just like he tortured even though he knew it was wrong. He's not making mistakes, he's purposefully making bad decisions, and he just can't seem to stop.

"I think you've got yourself some self-image issues," Tony says, earning a glare from Dean. "Not that I have much room to judge given my past, but still. Didn't your angel pull you out of hell? That has to count for something."

"I was needed. In the great showdown, Lucifer was going to possess Sam and Michael was going to possess me. I couldn't get possessed while trapped in hell." Dean had never believed that he deserved to be saved, that an angel would risk going into hell to find him and bring him out, and the truth is, Dean didn't deserve to be saved. Michael just wanted to use Dean's body.

Dean's not sure why he hasn't been tossed back into hell now that he's put an end to the possession plans, but it's only a matter of time. His soul is too sullied to go anywhere else once he dies. Dean wonders if maybe he should start being more careful on his missions. No. He needs to kill Alastair. If Alastair is dead then hell will at least be more manageable. Maybe Dean won't break again. Maybe he can serve as Crowley's right hand man.

Dean can't help but laugh at the thought. He and Crowley running hell together. The King and his bitch.

"I'll take a look at the knife," Tony says eyeing Dean with worry. Dean wants to laugh again, because if Tony Stark is worried about him than he's in pretty deep shit. "No promises and it doesn't get priority."

"Okay." It was more than Dean was expecting. "I'll get out of your hair now."

"Yeah, go, but first," Tony hesitates, "you're not okay."

Dean laughs. "No shit."

Tony looks like he's going to say something else so Dean leaves.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Dean's back to crisis mode. Clint turns out to be the well-adjusted one in their relationship.

Party-Like-A-Hawstar: First, lovely username :) Second, this sequel actually started off because I was writing a Sam/Natasha story that went from a nice little one shot into a she doesn't do love crisis and then it got benched for a Dean-Clint story and then Watch and Learn and then NaNo...But! It still exists, and my goal is to go back to it and sort it out.

* * *

"Mr. Winchester?" Jarvis asks.

Dean groans and throws an arm over his head. It's way too early for him to be disturbed by an AI, and it's never a good time for him to be referred to as Mr. Winchester.

"I'm not respectable enough for a mister," Dean says but he knows it won't change anything. He's already tried to get the AI to call him Dean and when that failed tried for at least Winchester, but because the thing was made by Tony Stark it's stubborn and so Dean continues to be Mr. Winchester. Dean's only consolation is that Sam's referred to as Sammy.

"I am not in a position to determine the respectability of your character," Jarvis says, "but I have been instructed to inform you that Mr. Stark has completed a prototype knife, and he wants you to collect it before you leave for your next demon hunt so that you can test it."

"Awesome." Dean rolls over and looks at the clock. 6:32am. Why in the world did Tony choose now to tell Dean this? Can't he send a text or something like a normal person? Maybe this is revenge for having to make the knife in the first place.

"Mr. Stark wants to know if you are going to thank him."

Of course he does, Dean thinks. "Tell him he'll get his thanks if the knife works."

"Yes, sir. Have a good morning."

More like an early morning. Dean's awake an hour earlier than usual which annoys him, because he likes his sleep, but on the plus side, he has an hour to spend with Clint before they head to work, and Dean can think of all sorts of ways to pass that hour.

"6:30 wakeup call?" Clint asks, leaning against the doorway to their bedroom, already dressed for the day. "You must have pissed him off."

Dean shrugs and stretches out on the bed, smirking as Clint's eyes wander down the bare expanse of Dean's chest.

"Stop being distracting," Clint scolds, but there's no real anger in his voice, and he doesn't drag his eyes away from where the sheet is draped dangerously low on Dean's waist. "Why is Tony making knives for you? He doesn't do weapons anymore."

"We need them," Dean says. He pulls the comforter up, because he's cold, and Clint appears to be a man on a mission. "Tony realized that and so he's helping."

"The exorcisms aren't working?" Clint's starting to look worried now, and it's something that Dean's never going to get used to. Dean's always been the one to worry, to look out for other people, and to have it turned on him; well, he doesn't deserve that kind of concern, but he's grateful for it every time he sees it.

Dean slides out of bed and heads over to the dresser, because if they're going to be having serious talks then he might as well be dressed for them. "They are but I like having a back-up. Especially after our last run in." Because if Alastair is targeting Dean then there are going to be a lot of demons popping up, and some of them won't be able to be exorcised. Dean's only hoping that most of them can be killed by the knife.

"The phones can get smashed if they're inside the salt circle," Clint says, "so just make sure they stay out of it. The trick with the car stereo worked well."

"Not very subtle though." Dean tugs a t-shirt over his head and fastens his jeans before heading out to join Clint in the living room.

As Dean's passing him, Clint reaches out and grabs his arm. "Is everything all right?" Clint eyes search Dean's face for secrets Dean isn't willing to give up.

Dean shakes off the hand. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Clint rolls his eyes at the deflection, but he stays leaning against the doorframe as Dean throws himself down on the couch. "You came back from your hunt upset that you'd had to use the knife, because it killed a girl, and now you're trying to get a knife for every person on your team? What changed?"

Crowley. Alastair. The fact that hell is on Dean's heels. The fact that Dean doesn't even care about vessels anymore. He just wants the demons dead so everything will be over, and exorcisms aren't a permanent solution.

"We do what's necessary," Dean says, his voice flat. "Isn't the SHIELD's policy?"

"Didn't take long to turn you into a company man," Clint says. "What happened to the Winchester Way?"

The Winchester Way. Dean laughs. "Well, got me killed a fair number of times, got my dad killed and sent to hell, got me sent to hell, and started the apocalypse so I figured it was about time for a change of plans."

"It also saved your life, saved Sam's life, and stopped the apocalypse."

Dean doesn't understand Clint's continual insistence to see the good in everything Dean does, and he wonders how much it would take for Clint to stop trying. Could Dean tell him everything? Could he confess to everything he did in hell, tell Clint the excruciating details of Ruby's torture? Could Clint still look at Dean if he did that? Dean's too desperate for Clint's love to risk losing it with the truth.

"I'm tired of not making any progress," Dean finally says, and it's the truth even if it's not the full truth or the truth he should be disclosing right now. "I'm tired of feeling like everything I'm doing doesn't make a damn difference. It's about time to start killing all the damn bastards and put a dent in their numbers."

"I'm not arguing with you," Clint says, "but if you ever need to talk about it, I'm around. I have to head in early for a sparring session with Darcy, because Coulson thinks she should be able to defend herself with her fists instead of just a taser, and I think it's a terrible idea, because now she's going to get herself into bar brawls in order to beat randos up, but apparently my opinion doesn't count for anything. Lunch at the mess? Noon?"

"Sure." Dean smiles as Clint heads out and then collapses back on the sofa.

_If you ever need to talk about it, I'm around_. When was the last time they talked? Not about their days or their jobs or any of the surface level stuff, but actually talked? They used to. They would call each other on the phone, confess their deepest secrets and fears to each other through the safety of distance.

Dean wonders if they've had a real conversation since they moved into together. They haven't. It's one thing to talk into a phone, but face to face, when Dean can see every reaction, every emotion flit through Clint's eyes? That's completely different. Dean doesn't want to watch Clint recoil in fear or flinch in disgust at what Dean's feeling or what he's done. When they talked on the phone, Dean could be open, because he could pretend that Clint was calm and accepting and cool with everything.

Dean's phone starts playing the Men in Black theme song, and he jumps up and sprints to the bedroom to grab it, because that's Coulson's ringtone, and there's no way Coulson's calling this early in the morning unless there's an emergency.

"Three demons in Scranton," Coulson says as soon as Dean picks up. "The mini-jet will be on the roof in ten. Be there ready to go."

"They're just going to sit tight and wait for us?" Dean asks as he grabs his to-go bag and his weapons duffel from their place by the door.

"They came after a local hunter in his home and got themselves stuck in a devil's trap, but they're not responding to any of his exorcisms. He called a friend for help, and we've got the phone lines of all known hunters tapped."

"Highly illegal." Dean grabs his jacket and heads down to Stark's workshop to grab the knife. "Probably why they don't trust anyone."

"You were in the area, noted suspicious activity, and went to his home to check in with him, and you'll stumble in on the demons and take care of them."

"Right."

"Roof in eight minutes."

Coulson hangs up, and Dean pounds on the door to the workshop. He really needs to get himself an access pass.

Tony opens it thirty seconds later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Any other time Dean would comment on the drool stains on his shirt or how Tony's cheeks are still pink from sleep, but Dean doesn't have time for that now.

"Knife?"

"That didn't take long," Tony mutters and he stumbles toward a table full of graph paper and screws and bolts and a couple screwdrivers and hopefully the knife.

"Nope."

Tony comes up with a plain looking knife and hands it over. "Let me know if she works."

"Yep." Dean tucks the knife away and heads out of the workshop.

On the way up to the roof he sends Clint a quick text.

Dean: No lunch. Hunt. Time to give the knife a test run.  
Clint: Okay. Let me know how it goes.  
Dean: You should have lunch with Darcy  
Clint: Won't be as good

* * *

"I don't like this plan," Tori says.

"Don't care." Dean checks to make sure he has Ruby's knife and Tony's knife on him. Jeffrey lives on the outskirts of the city, so they'd landed the jet at the police station, apparently Coulson has a contact there; though, Coulson has contacts everywhere so Dean's not too surprised, and then taken a taxi out to Jeff's neighborhood.

Dean doesn't want Jeff meeting the team, because it's a little suspicious for a Winchester to be traveling with a team, especially a team of professionals, and Dean doesn't want to risk Jeff realizing that his phone is being tapped by the government. So the plan is that the team waits at the bus stop which is only about a block away from Jeff's, and they only show up if Dean needs help.

Of course, no one likes this plan but Dean, but since he's the leader he doesn't care. If they're as good as they're supposed to be then they'll stay put unless Dean sends a text for help. Of course, if he loses his phone and can't call for help then things are going to get complicated, but since the three demons are supposedly stuck, Dean doesn't think there are going to be any problems.

"You have ten minutes," Tori tells him. "Ten minutes and then we're coming after you."

Dean better make this quick then. He throws Tori a smile and a salute before jogging down the road and around the corner to get to Jeff's.

Jeff lives in a small house that has a rickety porch with peeling white paint, and his door knocker is a skull and Dean has to pull the jaw back to knock. There's silence for a long moment and then the shuffling of feet and the click of a safety.

"It's Dean Winchester," Dean says because he has no desire to be accidently shot. "You heard of me?"

There's another silence then a gruff, "Unfortunately."

"You might just change your mind about that. Heard there was some trouble in your territory."

"I don't need your help."

Dean doesn't have the time to waste convincing Jeff to let him in and deal with the demons, because if the team comes busting in here then one of them is going to get shot by Jeff.

"Sure about that? Heard you have some unwelcome visitors."

There's a long pause, and Dean holds his breath and hopes he's not about to get shot. "You seem to be hearing a lot of things."

Dean grins even though Jeff can't see him. "Yep. You going to let me in or no?"

Dean hears the grind of a latch being opened and then the turn of a deadbolt and finally the door swings open and Jeff and Dean are staring each other down. Jeff's a middle aged man with a rifle resting over his shoulder, and his eyes are full of suspicion as he steps aside to let Dean in.

"Thanks," Dean says and heads straight back until he finds the room with the demons. They're pacing within the trap, but they all pause and look up when Dean walks into the room. Dean likes to think they even look scared.

"What do you plan on doing with them?" Jeff asks, following Dean into the room. "Exorcisms don't work. Tried all the ones I could find."

Dean pulls Tony's knife out. "Why send 'em back when you can just kill 'em?"

The demons don't have anywhere to run, but they try and back up when Dean approaches. He doesn't make a show of what he's going to do, just lunges and plunges the knife into the closest available skin.

The demon crackles and dies, and the knife pulls out while the body falls to the floor. Well, Dean thinks as he turns his attention to the next demon, that answers that question.

* * *

Dean leaves his phone number with Jeff in case he ever finds himself in a demon situation again, and he texts his team to tell them he'll meet them back at the jet, because he needs to take care of the bodies.

He borrows Jeff's truck and drives out to an abandoned field to salt and burn the bodies. The three of them are burning in a ditch when he realizes he has company.

"I'm not a good person to sneak up on," Dean says, reaching for Ruby's knife which will always be his favorite demon killing knife even if Tony's knife is an exact replica.

"Your knife won't kill me," Crowley says.

Dean's in motion the moment he hears Crowley's voice, and he doesn't go for the knife, he goes for a good old fashioned punch, and he takes great pleasure in the crunch of bone and Crowley's sputtered indignation.

"You ruined my shirt!" Crowley motions to the blood staining his collar and he glares at Dean.

"I should be ruining more than that." Dean's hands are clenched into tight fists, and adrenaline and rage are coursing through his body, demanding that he start swinging again, but he forces himself to stand still.

Crowley brushes off his suit and fixes Dean with a cool stare. "You're starting to have your crisis? I was wondering how long it would take. You were surprisingly calm last time we met. Except for the tongue biting, of course."

"You didn't tell me you were second in line to Lucifer's throne."

"Ah." Crowley doesn't look apologetic about his manipulation, not that Dean really expected him to. Still, the half-smug grin on his face makes Dean want to hit him again. "Technically I'm third in line, with Lucifer being first and Alastair being second, but soon I'll be second in line. How's tracking Alastair down going by the way?"

"I thought that was your job?" Dean crosses his arms over his chest. He wants nothing more than to lay Crowley flat, to wrap his hands around Crowley's neck and squeeze, but he doesn't, because he understands that this was his fault. He made a deal with a demon, with _the_ dealer or deals, and he hadn't done all of his homework. He'd rushed in and of course he got screwed. He just hopes the consequences aren't too far reaching.

"You're snippy today," Crowley says. "I thought killing demons made you happy."

"It doesn't. Wait, how did you know I'd be here? And how did you know I was killing demons?"

Crowley gives Dean a _sometimes you humans are so adorably stupid_ look. "I know you're the one called to deal with demon threats, and I wanted to check in with you. Did you think I was going to ring you when I wanted your attention?"

Crowley had arranged for those demons to get toasted in order to drag Dean out from the tower so they could have a chat? Sometimes Dean doesn't understand how this is his life.

"What if I'd had my team with me?" Dean asks. "What if I hadn't been called up?"

Crowley smiles, and it makes a shiver run down Dean's spine. "I know you."

Dean doesn't want to think about that one too much. "So, you went through all this trouble to get me out here, does that mean you have information for me?"

"Just wanted to make sure this would work." Crowley smiles. "Don't look so angry with me. You got to kill three demons today. That should make you feel all happy and manly inside."

Dean really wishes he had the Colt on him so he could kill Crowley right now. Crowley must sense Dean's homicidal thoughts because he grins even wider and wags his finger. "I'm doing you a service."

"Uh huh." After Dean puts a bullet through Alastair, he's going after Crowley. "Well, I should get back before my team tracks me down and finds you."

"Until next time." Crowley gives a mock salute, and leaves Dean to pile fresh dirt on the ashes of the former vessels.

* * *

When Dean gets back to the jet, Matthew is strapped in ready to go, Christine is busy with her tech, and Trevor and Tori exchange a look before Tori's in Dean's personal space and looking pissed.

"I know you're used to doing things your way," she says, "but you're a part of SHIELD now. You can't just go off and do things solo. If Coulson wanted you doing solo work he wouldn't have given you a team."

"I do just fine on my own," Dean says.

She gives him a disbelieving look. Dean thinks back to their first demon run and how he'd be dead without them. He's angry with Crowley and angry with himself, but that's no reason to take it out on her.

"Sorry," he says and he pulls out Tony's knife and hands it to her, hilt first. "Took it on a test run. It works. Congratulations, you can now kill demons."

Tori turns it over in her hands, examining it. "Does this mean I get to come with you next time?"

Dean nods. "Yes. Now that you have a way to actually kill them, you get to come. Don't worry, Trevor, I'll get Tony started on the next ones so you can come along and play too."

"We're killing them now?" Trevor confirms. "Not even trying to exorcise?"

"Only safe demon is a dead demon," Dean says. "Matt, bring us home. I'm going to be in the back, don't disturb me."

Dean heads to the hanger where he's safe from prying ears, and he digs out his cell phone.

"I killed three more today," Dean says as soon as Clint picks up. "Demons. And people. I try to just think of it as killing demons, but then I have to burn the bodies, and I remember that they're human. And that they're now dead because of me."

"From the sounds of it, most humans don't survive demon possession," Clint says, always the rational voice Dean needs him to be, "they'd die anyways, and you're killing a demon in the process."

"I shouldn't be okay with it."

"No. You'd lose a part of yourself if you were, but you don't need to beat yourself up over it."

Yes I do, Dean thinks. "I can't ever grow used to this," Dean says. Like torturing people? Like lying to the people closest to you? Dean squeezes his eyes shut. "I need to keep feeling." Even though it's tearing me up inside.

"Are you on the jet?" Clint asks, his voice calm, cutting through Dean's panic, putting him at ease.

"Yeah." Dean leans against the hanger doors and drags a tired hand down his face. Maybe after this whole Alastair thing is over he'll take a vacation. Or retire. Volunteer at a homeless shelter or something to try and balance out all the wrong he's done. Hunting isn't the way to salvation. It only leaves him with more blood on his hands.

"All right. I want you to hang up and go spend time with your team. We'll talk when you get home."

Dean doesn't like talking in person, but he's too tired to argue right now. Maybe when he gets back he'll just go straight to sleep and skip the talking. That sounds like a good plan.

"Okay. See you soon."

* * *

When Dean gets back to the tower, he goes straight to the kitchen, because he always likes to have a beer after a hunt, and Coulson had informed him that there was no beer drinking allowed on the jet or during debriefings.

Dean's popping the cap off the bottle when Tony wanders in, bright eyed and a little frazzled like he's been subsisting on coffee and inventing for too long.

"Hey," Dean says, stepping aside to give Tony access to the fridge. He'd thought about what to do to thank Tony for making a working knife, and he'd run through the stupid shit; fruit baskets, kiss-a-grams, and chocolate before realizing that there really isn't anything to get for the billionaire who has everything which is why Dean settles for a simple, "thanks."

Guilt flashes over Tony's face, and his shoulders sag, because he knows what Dean's talking about, knows what's happened, and knows that he now has more bodies on his conscience now.

Dean puts a hand on Tony's shoulder. "The blood's on my hands, not yours."

The relief on Tony's face pushes back some of the guilt weighing heavy on Dean's shoulders, but it returns as soon as Dean looks away to take another pull of his beer.

Tony emerges with a plastic cup full of something green and semi-solid, and Dean gags at the sight of it so he can't imagine anyone drinking it.

"Supposedly it's good for me," Tony says, but Dean doesn't miss the way his eyes flick up towards Dean's beer.

"It looks like pond scum." Dean pulls another beer out of the fridge and offers it to Tony.

Tony only debates for a moment before putting the smoothie back and taking the beer. "I almost got killed by one of my own weapons," Tony says leaning back against the counter. "And I saw the damage they were doing in the wrong hands and realized that there was no way to keep them in the right hands so I decided to stop making weapons. People think it's hypocritical that I disbanded Stark Weapons and kept Iron Man, but I have control over Iron Man. I didn't have control over my guns."

Dean kills things personally and intimately. He can't imagine how Tony copes not knowing how many people his weapons have killed, what people they've killed. Dean kills after careful study or in self-defense. He kills creatures that deserve to die or at least can't be allowed to live. That knowledge doesn't let him sleep easy at night, but it does make sleep easier.

"Do we have control over anything?" Dean thinks back to Ruby, to what she told him and how pieces just fell into place. The manipulation of Sam's entire life, the plan for Dean and Sam to act as vessels for Michael and Lucifer. How everything had been orchestrated to lead up to that moment. They'd prevented it from happening once, but what's to say Michael and Lucifer won't try again? Are plans like those inevitable?

Dean can't help but wonder if he's ever made a choice in his life that hadn't been thought out or predetermined by heaven. Is anything truly his decision or is he just living out a life that's already been mapped out?

"Who the fuck knows." Tony takes a long drink of his beer and they stand in heavy silence.

"Well, isn't this cheery," Clint says, popping into the kitchen a couple minutes later.

"One of those days," Tony says and he sounds weary.

"Why don't you go find Pepper or Bruce," Clint suggests and he's lost his false cheer and his subtle mocking, having shifted into concerned teammate. He waits for Tony to shuffle off before turning to Dean. "You beating yourself up again?"

"Nothing I don't deserve."

Clint shakes his head and pries the beer from Dean's hand. Clint finishes it to quell any protests about wasting beer or not completing post-hunt rituals. "Let's take this discussion to the bedroom."

"You're not going to distract me with sex," Dean says even as he lets Clint lead him from the room.

"Clearly you underestimate my abilities."

That startles a small laugh out of Dean, and Clint allows himself a smug smile.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Darcy makes an appearance! I'm not quite sure how she ended up in this story, but she's fun. Also, Dean's more of a wreck than usual, but he has Clint to help get him through it.

* * *

"So how was lunch with Darcy?" Dean asks over breakfast. He's not feeling as rested as he usually does the morning after a hunt. He feels restless, and he's not in a good headspace. He blames it on Crowley's visit.

He doesn't like how easily Crowley knows him, doesn't like that Crowley's taken an interest in him or that Dean's ridiculously easy to play. And he really doesn't like the fact that he's been conscripted—no, agreed—to help put Crowley at the top of hell's food chain. He's supposed to be killing demons, not putting them in positions of power.

Clint grins as he spears a forkful of eggs. "It was good. She's hilarious. You'd like her."

"Mm." Dean pokes at his tater tots. "How'd you meet?"

Clint laughs at a memory Dean doesn't have access to. "New Mexico. Same time I found out you were alive again." Clint's expression slips into something softer. "She was Jane Foster's assistant. They're the ones who found Thor. I got to confiscate her iPod. She was pissed about it."

"Of course," Dean says. "You don't mess with people's music. That's like a violation of basic human rights."

Clint rolls his eyes. "I'm kind of afraid for you two to ever meet each other."

"Well, I haven't met her yet so there's no saying I'll ever meet her." Dean finishes off his eggs and moves onto his toast. "Besides, I stay away from the sciency stuff and it sounds like that's where she lives."

"No, that's where she works." Clint's grinning and it either means something good is going to happen or something that Dean's going to be annoyed about. "And I think you're going to meet, because I asked her to come to the bar with us on Friday."

"You what?"

Clint takes advantage of Dean's shock by sniping a piece of bacon. "SHIELD isn't all work and no play. You know that, and since neither of us are scheduled for a mission, we're going out. I invited Darcy, because she knows how to have a good time. You can bring Sam if you want."

Dean can't remember the last time he went out to a bar, and he wonders if it's a sign that he's getting old or that his job has really gotten to him, but he could use a night out. Drink a few beers, play some pool, get pleasantly buzzed and forget about responsibility and work and demons and just have a nice night with his boyfriend.

"Like Sam would ever choose to have fun," Dean says.

Clint laughs and leans in for a kiss.

* * *

The bar isn't one of the swanky ones just down the street from the tower which Dean is grateful for. He likes the rustic bars with the cheap drinks and chipped pool tables and dart boards that are missing a full set of darts.

He feels comfortable in worn seats, surrounded by a faint cloud of smoke. There's no smoke in this bar, but the bar itself and the furniture are made out of knotted wood that makes Dean feel at ease.

The bar is on the right side of the room with a few scattered tables and booths on the left until they give way to a dance floor and then a small stage. Right now there's a local band on stage, and Dean spies Clint and Darcy tucked into the corner, Darcy's back to the front door which means Clint sees Dean instantly.

He smiles and lifts his fingers in a _come here_ gesture, and Dean's feet are moving before he's even aware that he's going. He pauses by the bar, because he's not sure if he needs to get a drink, but then Clint's holding up a beer, and Dean ignores the warmth spreading through his chest at the fact that Clint's here with a table and drink, waiting for Dean to come fill the space that's been set aside for him.

Sliding into the booth next to Clint feels natural like Dean belongs there and then Clint slips his arm around Dean's waist, and Dean's pretty sure he could sit here all night and not complain.

"You must be the infamous fugitive," the young woman across the booth says, and Dean tries not to startle at the sound of her voice, because that would give away the fact that he'd been so distracted by Clint he'd forgotten that she was here. Clint's hand squeezes Dean's hip, and if a hand squeeze could be smug then that's what it would feel like. Or maybe that's the way Clint's body is vibrating with the repressed urge to laugh.

Dean gives Darcy a lazy grin and a nod. "Dean Winchester, at your service."

Darcy's grin is full of mischief as she leans in to say, "Don't need the services you offer. I've got a taser and a vibrator, and they both work beautifully."

Dean chokes on his laugh, and Darcy grins before raising her beer to Dean in a toast and taking a long drink.

"Told you you'd like her," Clint says and he's definitely smug now.

"Of course he does, everyone likes me." Darcy punctuates the statement with a toss of her hair. "Now, I was promised pool."

"She always gets what she wants," Clint whispers loud enough to be heard.

Darcy makes a show of reaching into her purse like she's about to pull a taser from it.

"I'm sure there's a very good reason for that," Dean says, "and I'm not planning on arguing with her. You up for a game?"

Clint grins, full of teeth and promise, and he leans in to murmur into Dean's ear, "I'm up for anything." The words are accompanied by a nip to Dean's earlobe, and Dean wants to get out of the bar now. He wants to drag Clint the nearest empty space and pin him up against the wall and kiss him, but before he can actually act on that thought, Clint is nudging him to get out of the booth so they can go play pool.

"I hate you," Dean mutters.

Clint slips his hand into the back pocket of Dean's jeans and gives his ass a squeeze. "No you don't."

"Adorable," Darcy drawls looking completely unimpressed with their exchange of affection. "Now are we going to play or what?"

"You didn't tell me she was bossy," Dean says but there's a smile tugging at his lips as they follow Darcy over to an empty pool table.

"I can hear you," Darcy tells him cheerfully. "I'm also a trained SHIELD agent."

"That's a bit of a stretch," Clint says. "You're not a SHIELD agent."

"But I am trained."

"To make coffee and file papers."

Darcy's eyebrows go straight up. "I think you're insulting the work I do."

"That would imply that you actually do work."

"Big mistake," Darcy says, handing Clint a pool stick. "I was going to go on easy on you, 'cause your boyfriend's here, but now I'm going to kick your ass."

"In your dreams," Clint retorts. He tries to pass his pool stick to Dean, but Dean shakes his head.

"Pool's better in pairs. I'll play winner."

"Which'll be me." Darcy grins and chalks up her stick. "You want to break, Hawkboy?"

Clint glares at the nickname and goes around collecting the balls from the pockets so he can set up the game. Dean leans back against the wall to watch the two of them. They're easy together, familiar, and he watches as Clint "accidently" hits her with his cue stick getting blue chalk on her white shirt and how she then "accidently" slams her heel down on his foot.

Dean laughs, no sympathy for either of them, and he feels a strange ache in his chest as they grin at each other and call a truce. This is what a normal couple looks like, Dean thinks. They joke about coffee and their jobs and give each other a hard time, but they also know how to relax and have fun, and this is the kind of relationship that Clint deserves.

They bump shoulders as Darcy passes Clint to get a better angle on her shot, and Dean wonders if they'd notice if he just slipped out. He's sure that Darcy has some sort of baggage, no one's is perfect, but it's probably nothing as extreme as making demon deals and being hell's #2 torturer.

"She's insufferable," Clint confides as Darcy does a little 'I got the ball in a pocket' dance, but his voice is full of warmth and fondness, and he can't quite keep the smile off his face.

"Oh yeah," Dean agrees. "That's why you two go to the bar all the time."

There must be something off in his tone, because Clint tilts his head to the side, a question on the tip of his tongue when Dean shakes his head.

"Everything's fine. I'm going to get our drinks. Try not to lose before I come back, I want to see Darcy's victory dance."

"Hey!" Clint protests, but his smile isn't completely there, it's hesitant like he knows he's missing something, but he can't quite put his finger on it.

"Yo, birdbrain," Darcy calls. "You going to go or what?"

"Your lame names never get any better," Clint says. He turns back to the table and pushes Dean out of his mind and focuses on what shot to make next.

* * *

Dean begs off playing winner, claiming that he wants to give Clint a chance to even up the score. Darcy laughs and thinks it's a great idea. Clint pauses for a moment like he's considering shoving the stick into Dean's hands and making him play but then he shrugs, takes the beer Dean's offering, and goes back to exchanging playful trash talk with Darcy.

Dean cradles his beer, still his first one, and lets his attention drift over to the band. The lead singer looks like he's trying to make out with the mic, and the drummer has way too much hair, and Dean thinks that their music isn't half-bad, but they'd probably have a bit more successful if they stopped trying to fit in. They were what you expected from a small bar's Friday night band and that would never get them noticed.

Darcy cheers as she sinks a ball, and Dean flashes her a smile and gives her a thumbs-up from behind Clint's back.

* * *

Dean agrees to play the third game even though Clint and Darcy are tied 1-1 and should be playing a tie breaker. Darcy assures Dean that if they play a tie breaker then she's going to win and that will make Clint pout and be no fun for the rest of the night.

"I'm not sure why I take you anywhere," Clint grumbles even as he passes his cue stick to Dean.

Darcy flashes a smile too sweet to be completely genuine. "It's 'cause you love me."

Dean feels Clint's gaze flit to him, like he's afraid Dean's going to have a freak out, but Dean's smiling, happy and relieved, because Darcy is a good person for Clint to love. She's fun and happy and, most of all, safe, and that's what Clint deserves.

"You're delusional," Clint says after a moment too long. "I'm going to go get another round of drinks. Same you had before?"

"I want," Darcy begins.

"No." Clint gives her a stern look. "You aren't allowed to have energy drinks under normal circumstances. I'm certainly not giving you one mixed with alcohol. You want something sweet? Maybe pink?"

"Do it and I'll carve _Clint sucks _into all your bows."

"Devious." Clint turns to Dean. "You want another beer?"

Dean holds up his beer, showing that it still has about a quarter left. "I'm good but thanks."

"That's your first," Clint says. "We've been here for almost an hour."

Dean smiles, hoping it'll dispel some of Clint's worry. "One of us has to be responsible, and it's certainly not going to be either of you." Dean leans in to press a brief kiss to the corner of Clint's mouth before turning to Darcy. "Unlike Clint, I'm actually good at pool so you're going to have a bit of a challenge."

Dean's fingers itch to curl around his beer and finish it. He wants to knock back some shots or pound a few more beers, but he can't. He thinks it's entirely unfair that whenever he wants to drink the most is when he definitely shouldn't be drinking at all. He wants to drink until his head is fuzzy and his stomach is warm, until he's forgotten about everything he's done, everything's doing, until life is one pleasant blur of sensations.

But Dean's head isn't in the right place to be that kind of drunk tonight. If he drinks he's going to get angry or emotional, and he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to ruin Clint's night, and he doesn't want to give away the fact that everything isn't okay.

"You going to break or just stare melodramatically out into space all night?" Darcy asks, cutting through Dean's thoughts.

"Right," he says. "Sorry."

"Uh huh." Darcy leans against the edge of the table. "You know, a lot of people have tried to set me and Clint up."

"Mm." Dean carefully lifts the plastic triangle up and goes around to the other side of the table so he can break.

"Any reason his boyfriend's trying it?"

Dean looks up from the cue ball, shocked that she'd picked up on something he thought he was doing a pretty good job of hiding. "Uh."

"You're an idiot," Darcy tells him. "Which is exactly why you two are perfect for each other. I have no desire to date him, and he's too in love with you to even consider dating me."

Dean doesn't want to be having this conversation. Darcy's obviously observant, something he should've realized since she works at SHIELD, and Dean has way too many secrets he's trying to keep.

"I thought we were playing pool," Dean says.

Darcy snatches the cue ball off the table. "I'm talking sense into you, because I might not want to date Clint, but I like him, and I'm not going to watch you two fall apart."

"We're not falling apart."

Darcy rolls her eyes. "Yeah, that's why you're trying to set him up with me? You bored or something? I mean, you two have been dating for a damn long time and—"

"I'm not bored," Dean snaps. He would never leave Clint, because he was bored. It would be impossible to be bored with him.

Darcy grins, and Dean has no idea what's just happened, but it's probably not good. "So you think it's something wrong with you. He clearly loves you, dude, so relax and have some fun."

He loves what he knows of me, Dean thinks. He loves who he thinks I am, but I've been carefully not telling him things that will make him not love me, because I'm selfish, and not a good person, and I'm afraid that I won't be able to get out of bed in the morning if he doesn't love me.

Dean doesn't know when he got so dependent or pathetic, but he knows he's too deep to fix it. He doesn't understand how this always happens to him. Dad, Sam, Cas, now Clint. Dean can't imagine life without the people he cares about. His chest constricts, a sharp ache piercing through his heart that makes his eyes water with the shock and intensity of it.

"Shit," Dean breathes and it isn't until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder that he realizes he's spoken out loud. He turns to see Darcy looking at him with worry, her smile completely erased from her face.

Dean takes a quick step back, because he doesn't even know her, not really, and even if he did, he wouldn't want her pity.

"You should really play that tie breaker," Dean says and he lays the stick against the table. Darcy crosses her arms over her chest like she's going to protest but Dean shakes his head. "Clint's had a rough week. He deserves a night of fun, and I'm not going to be fun tonight. Make sure he blows off some steam and don't let him worry about me. I'm fine."

"Oh buddy," Darcy says. "You're so far from fine."

Dean's shoulders slump with relief, because someone's finally noticed, and he hadn't realized how much he wanted someone to cut through his bullshit until they did. It isn't enough to make him stay, because he meant what he said, Clint needs to have some fun, but it's enough for Dean to give Darcy a real smile before he heads for the door.

* * *

Dean gets ready for bed, but he doesn't go to sleep, because he wants to wait up for Clint to make sure he makes it back okay. A part of him kind of wishes Clint doesn't come back, that he opens his eyes and realizes that Darcy is perfect and everything he needs and that he goes back to her place.

And then Dean thinks that maybe they'll be too drunk to be thinking clearly. What if Clint takes her back here? This is technically Clint's suite, no matter what anyone (Sam) has to say on the matter. Dean doesn't want Clint and Darcy to stumble in, drunk and handsy, and find Dean on the bed, because that'd be awkward, so Dean jumps out of bed and searches for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt so he can go back to his room.

There's a bed there, and it'll be no trouble for Dean to sleep there for one night. He wonders if Clint will bring Darcy to breakfast in the morning or if he'll think that's too awkward. Dean wonders if maybe he should go to the Impala. Sleep there tonight and then go visit Bobby. Maybe he should move out of the tower.

Dean's vaguely aware of the fact that he's way too tired to be trying to think right now. He stumbles into the wall as he tries to pull his sweatpants on. Trying to stay awake without anything to distract him is hard. Whenever a bar trip or a hunt keeps Dean awake to the early hours of the morning, he has no problem keeping his body alert and his head clear. Why is he having so much trouble now?

"Going somewhere?"

Dean's head snaps up, and Clint's standing in the doorway, his hair sweat mussed, sticking up in every direction, and there's a healthy flush on his face, and he's smiling, but it's guarded, like it's trying to protect the worry that's deeply inset in his eyes.

"You're back," Dean says as he pulls his sweatpants up. He peers around Clint, but he doesn't see Darcy. Doesn't hear any sign of her either. "And alone."

Clint frowns. "Of course I'm alone. Did you leave the bar to come back here and drink?"

"I'm not drunk," Dean says, but he might as well be, because his body feels too light, like he's not actually in it, and words are rising up in his throat, and he wants to talk even though he knows he shouldn't.

"Darcy said something was wrong," Clint says, coming further into the room, but he doesn't shut the bedroom door because he knows it will make Dean feel trapped. "I should've come back right away, but she said to let you stew for a bit."

"She's smart."

Clint's close enough to run a hand through Dean's hair, to tilt his head down so he's looking straight into Clint's eyes. "Yeah, but she doesn't know you like I do. Too much thinking is bad for you." Clint's other hand loops around Dean's waist, pulling him closer. "Want to talk about what's got you all worked up?"

No, Dean thinks, but what comes out is, "I don't want you to date Darcy."

Clint's goes still, his hands pulling away from Dean. "What?"

"I mean," Dean grabs Clint's hands and tugs him closer, because Dean needs to be touching him, needs Clint's heat to bleed through, to warm Dean up, because he feels cold, so cold. "I do want you to date."

"What?" Clint asks again but he doesn't try to pull away this time. "Did I do something wrong tonight?"

Of course Clint thinks he's done something wrong. He never understands that it's Dean's fault. It's always Dean's fault. "No." Dean runs his hands up and down Clint's arms, willing the tension to bleed out, for Clint to relax. "Nothing wrong. Never. I love you." Dean's hands pause and tighten, his grip almost desperate.

"But you want me to date Darcy?" Clint sounds confused, and Dean can't blame him. It's all jumbled in Dean's head too.

"Yes," Dean says and Clint stiffens again. "No. I mean," Dean pauses, wildly searching for the right words even as his mind screams at him to just shut up before he screws everything up. "I should want you to date her. She's good for you. You deserve someone good for you, but I'm selfish. I love you so I don't want you to leave me, but you should." Dean can't decide whether he wants to cling to Clint or push him away so his hands just go slack, palms resting gently against Clint's arms. "You should get as far away as you can."

"Oh Dean," Clint sighs and then he's wrapping his arms around Dean, holding him tight, like he never plans on letting him go, and Dean begins to shake, because he doesn't deserve this, but he wants it so much. He wants this to be real, to be a promise even though he knows he shouldn't.

Clint's hand cards through Dean's hair, almost petting him, as Clint maneuvers them to the bed, and as soon as they're lying down, Dean worms his way into Clint's space, sliding a leg between Clint's, winding an arm around his waist, curving a hand behind his neck. It's still not enough. Dean's not sure it'll ever be enough.

Dean's eyes meet Clint's for a moment, but the worry and the trust and the love in them is too much so Dean drops his head to the curve of Clint's neck.

"I've messed up," Dean says even though he shouldn't. He shouldn't talk, because then Clint will leave, and Dean doesn't want him to leave. But Clint needs to leave. He needs to get out before Dean ruins him.

"It's okay," Clint says and his hands are warm as they stroke up and down Dean's back.

"It's not." Dean closes his eyes, rallies his strength. "I messed up bad, and I wish I could tell you how, but I can't. I literally can't speak when I try and tell you, but I had to tell you something, because I'm not good enough for you. I did something I shouldn't, and I don't even feel sorry. I," Dean chokes and presses wet eyelashes against Clint's neck. "I need you to leave me."

Clint's hands pause, but his arms pull Dean tighter. "That's not happening."

"But—"

"I know you," Clint says, "If you did something then you thought you were doing the right thing. Maybe something bad is going to come out of it, but I don't blame you for that, and I certainly don't hate you for it. We'll figure it out."

No, Dean thinks. Clint isn't just supposed to accept. That's not how it's supposed to work. He's supposed to get angry, he's supposed to yell and hurl insults so that Dean hurts, so that Dean's too shocked from the pain to register that Clint's leaving or try to stop him.

"You don't understand," Dean says. "This isn't even the worst I've done. I haven't told you about hell. I—"

"Enough," Clint says and his voice is sharp, brooking no room for argument. "I know everything I need to know." Clint tilts Dean's chin up so they're looking at each other. "I love you, and you're not going to change my mind."

"It's going to blow up in my face," Dean says. He has no idea how bad things are going to get with the Crowley and the Alastair situation, but they're going to get bad.

"I'll be there," Clint promises. "We'll figure it out. Just," Clint's fingers brush over the back of Dean's neck. "stop pushing me away. Okay?"

"I'll try."

* * *

They don't talk about it the next morning, at least, not directly. They wake up and go through their morning routines, and Dean feels awkward and raw as hell, because he'd been emotionally wrecked last night, but Clint's acting like nothing's happened, and Dean's not quite sure how to handle that.

At first, he decides to ignore it like Clint's appearing to, but Dean isn't good at ignoring problems so when they go to breakfast, he gives himself a knife even though he doesn't need one and doesn't give one to Clint, and he watches to see if Clint goes and gets a weapon of his own or eyes Dean's with suspicion.

Nothing.

Next, Dean stands in Clint's blind spot while he dries dishes, and Clint tenses, because he's uncomfortable with anyone in his blind spot, but he doesn't say anything, just continues to wash their dishes. Dean doesn't understand. He'd told Clint last night that Clint couldn't trust him, and Clint's okay with that? That doesn't make any sense.

Dean frowns and focuses on going completely still. He slows down his breathing until his heart is a slow quiet beat and until the breaths he's pulling in and pushing out are barely audible.

"Stop testing me," Clint snaps, startling Dean out of his impromptu meditation.

And just like that, they're fine. Well, as fine as they get. Dean doesn't understand how the hell he got so lucky to be dating Clint, but he stops pushing and they go out that night, back to the bar and they drag Sam and Natasha with them and meet up with Darcy and Jane and Thor there, and Dean learns that Clint has a damn good voice when Darcy gets him drunk and makes him sing karaoke.

He also learns that Darcy has a terrible voice, because Clint drags her up onstage for the chorus. Sam has a goofy grin on his face the whole night, and Natasha looks politely disinterested; though, Dean catches her almost smiling at Sam when Sam stumbles up onto the stage to give a passionate rendition of Build Me Up Buttercup with Thor.


	11. Chapter 11

Things get better with Clint, because Dean decides he needs him too much to push him away, and because he wants to spend as much time as possible with him before he finds out the truth of who Dean is and leaves.

Clint, though, is pretty much the only person Dean isn't avoiding. Dean goes to mandatory training with his team, but now that he's gotten a knife for Tori, he's working on molding her into team leader so he sends the four of them on little team building activities that always seem to end up being at the same time as a meeting with Coulson or a previous engagement Dean has scheduled.

Sam is too busy trying to figure out his weird not-relationship with Natasha to pay too much attention to Dean, which Dean is grateful for, even if he thinks there's nothing good in store for Sam and Natasha. Of course, Dean's not exactly a stellar example of how to make relationships work so maybe they're going to end up married with Sasquatch sized spy babies.

Cas is also absent, choosing to spend his time either with Steve and their also weird not-relationship or in heaven with his brothers trying to determine their next move in the never ending war against hell. Dean tells himself that he's glad Cas isn't around, because Cas has an uncanny ability to see straight into Dean's head, and Dean wants to keep his secrets and his self-hate all to himself, except he doesn't.

He doesn't want to talk about it, he's not sure he could admit anything, and that's why he wants Cas. He wants Cas to look at him, to understand, but then what? Tell him it's going to be okay? Tell Dean he did the right thing? Forgive him? That's the problem. Dean has no idea what he wants. Part of him wants to cling to Cas and beg to be forgiven and part of him wants Cas to smite the hell out of him. It's easier just to stay away from Cas, because then Dean doesn't have to think. It still hurts that Cas doesn't come looking for him.

Dean doesn't realize how much he's been isolating himself until Clint leaves on a mission. He and Coulson have a two week intel gathering somewhere, Dean guesses somewhere in the Middle East because Clint packed all of his desert gear, and Clint leaves early in the morning, and he wakes Dean up to kiss him goodbye and then Dean falls back asleep, and when he wakes up for real, his suite is empty.

There's lingering condensation in the bathroom from Clint's shower, but his towel is in the laundry basket instead of hanging on the hook next to Dean's, and his toothbrush is missing, and little things like that shouldn't be painful, but Dean feels each of them as a sharp jab in his chest.

He showers and dresses for training, and when he heads into the kitchen, Bruce is already there with a cup of tea and _Genetics Quarterly_, but he puts the journal down and smiles when Dean comes in.

"Good morning."

"Morning," Dean mumbles. He refuses to label any morning good, but Bruce has an obnoxiously cheerful smile on his face. "What's got you like this?"

Bruce holds up the journal. "Oscorp published another article on their progress with cross-species genetics. It sounds like they finally have a clue as to what they're doing. In ten or fifteen years they might actually accomplish it. Of course, if they let me look at their work, I could probably speed it up another five, but they're very secretive. Guess I can't blame them."

"Cross-species genetics?" Dean sticks a bagel in the toaster. "Sounds complicated. And probably dangerous."

"Definitely complicated. Only dangerous in the wrong hands. In the right ones, it could lead to the reversal of degenerative diseases and even assist amputees in regrowing their limbs. It could completely change the medical landscape."

It's way too early for science and way too early for Bruce's level of enthusiasm, but Dean manages to muster up a weak smile. "Sounds cool."

"Could you imagine if we found a way to splice starfish DNA into people? You could lose a finger and then it would regrow all on its own."

Dean really doesn't want to imagine himself with starfish DNA. Or any animal really. He's happy being human. His bagel pops and he slathers on some peanut butter before heading back towards his room.

"You eat better when Clint's here," Bruce comments.

Dean pauses and ignores the fact that he's already missing Clint, because it's only been a few hours and he can't start getting all mopey preteen girl now when there's still two weeks left to go. "Easier to cook for two." And by that, Dean means that it's worth making eggs and bacon or sausage for Clint, and it just seems like a waste to do it for himself.

Bruce smiles like Dean's just walked into some sort of trap. "Does that mean you'll make breakfast if I eat with you?"

Dean opens to his mouth to protest and then realizes it's not worth it. He lives in a tower with two geniuses, and he definitely just walked into a trap. "For a superhero, you're pretty lazy."

Bruce's smile dims slightly. "Not a hero. Definitely lazy though."

"Definitely both," Dean counters. He takes a bite out of his bagel and goes to grab some eggs and sausage from the fridge.

"Heroes risk their lives to protect people. Not only do I cause a large amount of damage, but I'm also invincible so I'm never in mortal danger."

"You life isn't just your physical life." Dean cracks the eggs into a bowl and whips them up, adding some milk and pepper. "You risked your career as a geneticist, you risked your reputation when you revealed you were the Hulk. You help people, and they shit all over you. That's what makes you a hero in my book. Not that you do things and get worshiped for it, but because they hate you and you still do it."

Dean's glad that his back is to Bruce, because that was a sappy speech, and Dean's pretty sure he's blushing. But he does believe in what he said. It's easy for the people who are loved for what they do to keep doing it. It's hard to protect people when they don't want it but they need it. Dean's had enough experience in that to know how not fun it is.

"So by your definition, Captain America isn't a hero?"

Dean turns to give Bruce a 'stop it' look. "I gave you a compliment. Don't ruin it by twisting my words so I get beat up by soldier boy."

"He hates that nickname," Bruce says and Dean goes back to making eggs. He also drops the sausages into a frying pan.

"Only because Tony played _Soulja Boy_ every time he walked into a room for a week straight and now Steve can't hear someone say Superman without blushing."

"That was a bit cruel," Bruce says but he's grinning as he remembers Steve's introduction to Urban Dictionary and what exactly _superman that ho_ meant. "Of course, he then made Tony sit in on a SHIELD professionalism class, because he doesn't think that ho is an appropriate way to refer to women, and he thinks Tony is setting a bad example by listening to songs with that word in it."

They fall into comfortable silence as they reflect on Tony's reaction to the class. He'd gone to the first one to humor Steve and then tried to skip the second, only to find that Steve was Very Serious about Tony learning the proper way to interact with women ("you may not call them ma'am and pull out their chairs, but you should still treat them with respect") and Tony had whined and protested and dragged his heels, but he'd ended up going to the entire week's worth of sessions. Pepper sent Steve an Edible Arrangement on behalf of Stark Industries, because she'd been trying to get him to a class like that for years.

* * *

The first week crawls by. Dean has breakfast in the morning, sometimes with Bruce, sometimes alone, training until mid-afternoon, and then he gets back to the tower, and he's alone. It's not that he and Clint are always doing things together, but they're usually together. They'll sit in the living room, Dean stretched out on the couch with a magazine and Clint curled up on the arm chair doing bow maintenance or Dean sending out emails to check in with hunters in the area while Clint sketches out a wish list of new arrows for Stark to build.

They rarely talk while they're unwinding like this, just occupy the same space, and Dean always forgets that silence can be so comforting until it's gone. Clint's presence fills a room and that's missing when he's gone. Dean can't look up from whatever he's doing and see the curve of Clint's smile or the furrow in his brow as he concentrates on getting a design just right.

Now, when Dean looks up from his magazine, there's just an empty room.

* * *

The second week is a little better, because Dean decides to deal with his boredom by annoying Sam as much as possible which is a lot, because annoying Sam is one of Dean's specialties.

Dean knows better than to mess with Natasha's room, because he doesn't have a death wish, but he fiddles with Sam's computer so that every time he presses enter it moans and every time he right clicks it says _please_ in a breathy, pornographic whisper.

Dean changes Sam's voicemail so it's a personal ad and prompts callers to email a fake email account to arrange private meetings. Dean has the account forward the emails to Sam's actual email, and it only takes a day for Sam to storm into Dean's room and shove a couple printed emails in Dean's face and demand an explanation for _why Mr. Davers wants to know if I prefer cherry or grape so he knows what flavor condoms to buy_.

When Sam finds that Dean switch out his generic laundry detergent for something that is overpoweringly floral, he tells Dean to find some other way to express his boredom and his worry for Clint. He then threatens to set Natasha on Dean, so Dean spends the next two days mind numbingly bored again.

And then Clint comes home.

* * *

Dean has no warning that Clint's on his way back. He hasn't gotten a phone call or even a quick text in a day and a half which isn't unusual, but Dean still spends the whole time worrying incessantly.

He ends up going to the shooting range Saturday afternoon, because it seems to calm Clint down, and Dean figures he could use some calm right about now. It's not calming at all. The only time Dean fires a gun is under stressful circumstances, and it's almost like a Pavlonian response. Dean picks up a gun and his sense go on high alert, his heart starts stammering away, and in a moment he is anything but calm.

Dean spends about fifteen minutes shooting at stationary targets before admitting that he isn't doing himself any favors. He paces around in his room for twenty, throws a ball against the wall for five then wanders out to the common room to watch TV. Or play a video game. Or something.

He's started and stopped five different video games, and he's now flipping through channels, trying to find something that will catch and hold his interest or at least drown out the constant refrain of _is he okay? I hope he's okay. Haven't heard from him in a while. Is he okay?_

"Okay," Tony says, snatching the remote out of Dean's hand. "That's enough. You're making Bruce agitated, and if he Hulks out over you channel surfing then Fury will probably implode with rage and then Doom will take over the world and—"

"Shut up, Stark," Natasha says slipping into the room. Sam clomps in behind her, and he flicks an assessing look over at Dean, as if he can figure out where Dean's head is at with just a look. Dean flips him off, because he doesn't need to be taken care of, especially not by his little brother.

Sam holds his arms up in surrender. Dean settles back into the couch and makes a face at the coupon show Tony has somehow managed to land on. Dean doesn't understand how watching people shop with coupons is entertainment, and he's planning strategies for getting the remote back—Tony's already forgotten that he's holding it and is supposed to be finding a good show—when Natasha speaks again.

"I haven't heard from Clint."

Dean watches a woman yammer on about savings and pretends like he's not panicking. Natasha hasn't heard from Clint either? That's definitely not a good sign. Sometimes Clint doesn't let Dean know when he's been hurt, because he doesn't want Dean getting worked up about it, but he always tells Natasha. The fact that neither of them have heard anything isn't good.

"Have you heard from Coulson?" Dean asks, still carefully not looking at her.

"No."

"I could hack SHIELD and see if there's any chatter," Tony volunteers, and Dean is actually considering taking him up on it when they hear muffled yelling coming from the elevator.

"I don't need to go to fucking medical!" Clint shouts, and Dean's on his feet in an instant, ready to sprint out and grab Clint by the shoulders and demand to know what the hell is wrong with him and why didn't he let Dean know everything's okay.

"You're being unreasonable," Coulson says, his voice actually raised in return though he isn't doing anything as undignified as shouting.

"I'm being unreasonable?" Clint repeats, slowly, drawing out each word. "I'll show you fucking unreasonable."

Clint storms into the living room, and Coulson comes in after him, a pinched expression on his face like he's overtired and worried and not in the mood for Clint's shit. "You need to go to medical."

"I'm fine!" Clint twists to he can turn back and sneer at Coulson, and then his face goes white with pain and shock, and Dean is reaching out and catching him as he stumbles.

"You just pulled your stitches yelling at me," Coulson says and he sounds amused, pissed, and concerned all at once.

"Stitches?" Dean asks, careful of where he puts his hands. He lifts Clint's shirt up and sure enough, there's white gauze covering what's probably a nasty gash on his stomach. A gash that is beginning to bleed, staining the gauze. "You're going to medical."

Clint tries to twist out of Dean's hold. "You don't tell me what to do."

Dean grabs the sides of Clint's face and holds him, forcing Clint to meet his eyes. "When you're being a dumbass, I do. You're going to medical before you bleed out and die."

"I'm not going to die," Clint snaps and when he pulls away, Dean lets him. "You're all so fucking melodramatic."

"Says the one who can't form a sentence without dropping an f-bomb," Dean says.

Clint's eyes narrow into tiny slits, but the look is ruined when he sways, unsteady on his feet. "Cause you're a real picture of class."

Dean grins, letting the insult wash over him. "It's off to medical with you. If you're a good boy, I'll bring you a book to read while you recover."

"Fuck you," Clint says, but there's no real vitriol in the words, just a weary resignation.

Dean lifts up Clint's shirt to peek at the wound again. "Probably not until this has more time to heal."

He considers it a win when Clint groans and gives Dean's shoulder a small shove before they head down to the SHIELD medical facilities.

* * *

Clint has to get restitched which he doesn't want to sit still for, and Dean reminds him that if he hadn't pulled them in the first place then they wouldn't have to get restitched and then he threatens the smirking nurse which sets him right in Clint's book and Clint settles down long enough for the stitching to happen.

Dean sits in Clint's line of vision so Clint knows he's not alone but far enough way that Dean isn't in the way of anyone, and he tries not to flinch or frown at the bruises and scrapes and sand burn that Clint is sporting. Dean knows he doesn't come back from hunts in one piece, but it's different seeing Clint beat up like this and experiencing it himself.

"You're going to have to stay here for a few days," Dr. Gould says as he tosses his gloves into the trash. "You're dehydrated, you need to heal, and I'm sure you'll push yourself too hard if I release you. Can I trust you to cooperate and stay put?"

Dean can see Clint struggling to come up with a smart ass comment, and it's a sign of how exhausted he is that he doesn't have one ready. Before Clint can find out, Dean smiles up at the doctor. "He'll stay put." Dean can feel Clint glaring at his back so he brightens his smile. "Anything else?"

The doctor hesitates, like he doesn't want to push his luck. "Pain medication?"

"No," Clint says, immediate and sharp.

Dean looks back at him, the dark circles under his eyes, the tight line of his mouth that tells Dean that Clint's in pain and enough that it's going to interfere with his sleeping. He goes up to the edge of Clint's bed and lowers his voice so the doctor can't hear them.

"I won't leave your side," Dean promises. "You can say no, and I won't push you, but if you say yes then I'll be here until the meds have worn off. I won't leave you unless you're 100%."

Clint's eyes are bleary with the need to sleep and dulled with pain, but they still catch and hold Dean's gaze, scan his face searching for confirmation that Dean is telling the truth. After a moment Clint nods, and Dean turns to the doctor.

"We'll take it."

Dr. Gould seems shocked, but he chooses not to say anything, instead motioning for a nurse to take care of it.

Dean settles into the uncomfortable chair next to Clint's bed. Clint turns his head so he's looking at Dean and a small, vulnerable smile crosses his features, and Dean reaches out a hand to hold Clint's, and they sit there like that, holding hands and looking at each other until Clint's eyes get heavy and he drifts off into sleep.

* * *

Around 10pm, Dean realizes the flaw in his plan to not leave Clint's room. He's hungry and cold, and watching Clint sleep, now that the initial relief that he's okay is over, is both boring and kind of creepy. So Dean does what anyone would do.

He texts Sam.

Dean: Can you bring a blanket, some food, and something to do down to medical?  
Sam: Get it yourself, I'm not your errand boy.  
Dean: I promised Clint I wouldn't leave  
Sam: Doesn't medical have that stuff?  
Dean: Scratchy blankets, shitty food, and crosswords? Not when you can get me better stuff

After ten minutes have passed with no sign of Sam, Dean figures that Sam's ignoring him, and because he's cold and hungry, and he feels no guilt for what he does next.

He texts Natasha.

Dean: Sam's being stupid. I promised Clint I wouldn't leave medical, but I'm hungry.

There's no response, but five minutes later, Sam shows up, looking pissed and laden down with a fleece blanket, a backpack full of snacks ranging from an orange to miniature Keebler fudge cookies, and a Stark tablet.

"I hate you," Sam says throwing it all at Dean. "Natasha's making me sleep on the couch."

"I was hungry," Dean says. "And I can't leave."

Sam looks over at Clint and at Clint and Dean's joined hands. "He's sleeping."

Dean raises his eyebrows which is silent communication for _that's rich coming from you, brother, who doesn't like to wake up alone after a hunt_. Sam seems to get the message, and his shoulders roll forward, guilty.

"You're right. I'm sorry." Sam gives Dean's shoulder a brief squeeze. "Want me to stay and keep you company for a bit?"

Dean holds up the tablet. "Listening to you talk or playing Zombie Plants. It's a tough call, but I think I'm going to go with zombies." He smiles to let Sam know that he's been forgiven, and Sam smiles back before heading out of the room.

Dean sends a text Natasha as the game is loading.  
Dean: He's not a bad kid. Go easy on him.  
Dean's in the middle of a level when his phone buzzes.  
Sam: Thanks  
Dean: You interrupted my game. Zombies just took over the world.

Dean's smiling as he puts his phone on the little bedside table, and he gives Clint's hand a squeeze.

* * *

Clint on pain meds is actually a pretty good patient. He has a dopey smile on his face when he's awake, and he slurs his words when he talks (and he talks a lot), and he doesn't complain when the nurses fuss over him, and he doesn't twitch whenever his bandages get checked or changed.

Clint off the meds is a terrible patient. After two days he decides he's done with medically induced fuzziness and apparently done with any medical assistance at all. Dean, not wanting to push his luck, doesn't try to stop Clint this time when he decides he's done being cooped up in a small white room.

Dean talks to the doctor to find out what to avoid, how to handle Clint's stitches, and then he heads upstairs to find Clint and figure out how to compromise, because the doctor wants Clint on bed rest, and Dean knows that there's no way that's happening.

* * *

"I feel like shit," Clint says when Dean reaches their room. He's sitting on their bed, apparently tired from the trip upstairs even though he took the elevator.

"Understandable." Dean kicks off his shoes and joins Clint on the bed.

"You don't even know what the mission was," Clint says.

Dean knows that it was supposed to be intel gathering and then somehow turned into something where Clint almost died, but he doesn't say that. Instead, he lies back on the bed and says, "You spent the last two days hopped up on drugs and being hydrated via tube. You have every right to feel like shit."

Gratitude flashes through Clint's eyes, and Dean knows he's thankful that Dean didn't bring up the mission. Dean wants to. He wants to find out what the hell happened, and he wants to storm Coulson's office and demand to know why Clint wasn't protected better, but Dean isn't going to do either of those things. Clint's a good agent, and Dean's not going to interfere with his job, the same way that Clint trusts that Dean knows what he's doing and isn't going to interfere with Dean's hunting.

"I hate medical," Clint says and he slowly eases himself down so he's lying down as well. "It makes me feel helpless. And useless. And like I'm a burden. Plus, they restrained me my first trip there."

Dean can feel his eyes narrowing. "What?"

Clint sighs as he looks up at the ceiling. "My first major injury on an op, and they knew that I could be difficult about treatment so they thought the solution was tying me down." Clint laughs and reaches over to smooth out Dean's features. "Coulson was as pissed as you are right now. Threatened all of their jobs. You probably would've punched them."

"Still do," Dean says. "You happen to remember their names?"

"It's not important anymore," Clint says. "They haven't done anything stupid since, and I still hate them. It works out well."

"Uh huh." Dean isn't so easily pacified, but then Clint scooches closer so his head is tucked under Dean's chin and his arm is draped across Dean's chest.

"Thanks for staying with me," he says. "I have a hard time sleeping in medical, and I needed it."

Dean reads between the lines, and he hears _thank you. I trust you. I needed you there_. Dean smiles and holds Clint closer.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Cas is awesome in this chapter. Also, there's some fighting and blood and a spot of violence at the end of the chapter.

* * *

Clint's ordered to take a month off of active duty which he's pissy about and it translates to him lurking around SHIELD, harassing anyone he can in the hopes that if he annoys or scares enough people then they'll send them back into the field.

Dean refuses to do anything about it, because one, he's not Clint's mother; two, he's busy working during the day, and three, he spends all his time not in work trying to redirect Clint's restless energy, and he's not going to do it while he's at work too.

Two weeks into Clint's mandatory leave, Clint is so bored that he and Thor are engaged in a DDR battle. Dean's in the living room, pretending to read some article on a new kind of handgun, but really watching the two of them, a fond smile for Clint as he throws his entire body into hitting each note, and a worried one for Thor. Dean's pretty sure that Thor's going to bring down the tower, he lands so hard on each move.

Sam wanders into the living room, cradling his laptop, and he pauses when he spots Clint and Thor. "Well, this is disturbing."

"But highly entertaining," Dean says and he laughs when Clint flips him off, not even pausing in his routine.

Sam stares for a moment and then shakes himself and comes over to the couch. "Bobby's been hearing things. Not good things." He sits next to Dean and points to the laptop.

Dean stares at the picture, blinks, stares some more and then slowly turns to Sam. "You're shitting me."

Sam frowns as he looks back at the picture. "I wish."

Dean looks at the man's body, even more muscled than Captain America or Thor and then looks up at the head, inhuman with glowing yellow eyes and two large horns. "The minotaur? Really? I wish some of these things would just stay myths."

Sam switches tabs and shows Dean the articles about how seven young men and women suddenly vanished, and no one knows what's happened to them except this happened fifty years ago and eventually the bones of the fourteen individuals were found.

"There are rumors that it happened fifty years before that," Sam says. "And scattered accounts of it happening before that. The Native American tribes even have some stories of the Bull Man so I think we might have an actual Greek mythological beast living in Maine."

"Why Maine?"

Sam shrugs.

"Why not a moose if it's in Maine?"

Sam rolls his eyes and Dean goes back to the picture of the minotaur. It's jacked which probably means super strength, and it has a nasty set of teeth, but maybe it's slow. And maybe since most of it is human and the rest of it is bull than it will be easy to kill.

Dean laughs at the thought of an easy hunt. "We should put the team together for this."

Sam pulls his laptop back. "I guess I'll forward the information to Christine."

"Christine?" Dean takes in the defensive, hurt feelings posture Sam is sporting and thinks about what he just said and then he rolls his eyes. "I'm not talking about them, you idiot." He smacks the back of Sam's head. "I'm talking about you and Cas, but if you're going to be stupid then I'll leave you behind."

"Should I requisition a jet or is Cas going to zap us there?"

"I said the team," Dean repeats. "That means the Impala. I should call Coulson and let him know we're leaving."

Dean's digging his phone out of his pocket when he realizes that the room is quiet. Clint and Thor have paused their game, and Clint is watching Dean.

"You're leaving?" It isn't really a question, but Dean nods anyways.

"Reports of a minotaur. 14 hostages." Dean dials Coulson, and it only rings before he picks up.

"Coulson," he says, "report."

"Sam, Cas, and I are going on a trip. Don't know how long we'll be gone."

"What kind of trip?"

"Hunting trip. One nasty mythological beast, 14 soon to be sacrifices."

"Should I call in your team?"

"I have Cas and Sam. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I won't be around for a while."

"How long?"

Dean misses the days where he learned there was something to kill and he could just up and leave without being frickin' interrogated. "No idea." Sam taps his shoulder and points to something on the screen. "Three days at the most," Dean says. "In three days the humans will have been eaten. Hopefully we'll save them before that."

"Do you need a jet?"

"We're driving." Dean can feel Coulson's displeasure over the phone. "Sam and I were doing this long before we got involved with SHIELD. Our way works perfectly fine."

"How many times have you died doing things your way?"

Dean snaps his phone shut and shoves it into his pocket. "Come on, Sammy." Dean gets up so fast he almost knocks Sam's computer off his lap. "We've got a minotaur to slay."

Sam shuts his laptop and tucks it safely under his arm. "I'll pack and let Cas know what's going on."

"Don't forget your toga."

Sam rolls his eyes. "The minotaur is Greek, idiot, not Roman."

"Nerd!" Dean calls cheerfully back as he stands up.

Sam disappears down the hall, and Dean turns to face Clint. He always feels vaguely guilty when he leaves on hunting trips which is stupid, because this is his job, and Clint goes off on missions so Dean's not the only one who leaves, and he's not _leaving_ leaving. He's going on a business trip. And this is a short one. Maximum of three days. Hopefully shorter.

"I won't be gone long," Dean says.

Clint abandons the DDR mat and steps into Dean's personal space. "I'm not worried about you being gone, I'm worried about the state you're going to come back in.

Dean tries to shrug off the concern. "Both of us being on medical leave could have some perks. Mandatory bed rest?" He waggles his eyebrows, but Clint's frown has the smile falling off Dean's face. "I'm sorry. I'll be careful."

"It's the minotaur."

"I've fought gods," Dean reminds Clint, reaching out to claps Clint's hands. "I've fought the spirits of serial killers and the first demon. Mythological creatures can't be that tough."

"Yeah, well, don't drive too fast to get there. Don't want you crashing before you have a chance in to swoop in a save the day."

Dean grins and gives Clint's hands a squeeze. "I'm going to come back in one piece. Promise." He presses a brief kiss to Clint's lips before going to pack.

* * *

"I don't see why we couldn't have spirited there," Sam complains, half an hour into the drive. "We would be there by now."

"And puking up our guts," Dean says. He rolls down his window and rests his free arm on the ledge, enjoying the wind as it whips through his hair.

"You are such a baby." Sam fidgets, pulling his legs up so he could brace them against the dashboard, then dropping them back down to stretch out after only a few seconds.

"Says the one who can't sit still. It's a car ride, Sammy. We used to do this all the time."

"The operative word being used to."

"Used to is two words," Cas says from the backseat, completely serious, but Sam glares at him anyways.

"Figure of speech," he snaps, and Dean sees Cas's face fall through the review mirror. He reaches out and smacks Sam's arm.

"Be nice," Dean says. He looks back at Cas. "You don't mind driving in the car, right?"

"A five and a half hour car trip is nothing compared to my lifespan." Cas looks out the window, and Dean gives Sam a 'see, the angel is on my side' look. Sam grumbles and tries again to find a comfortable position to sit in.

* * *

It takes them six hours to reach North Berwick, because they stop for a quick bite to eat and gas about halfway through the drive. North Berwick is a small town with a population of barely 4000, and Dean bypasses the first motel he sees in order to hunt down a bed and breakfast.

The place is a bit more expensive, but Dean knows how much Sam hates motels and diner food so he's hoping that a real bed and a real breakfast will make up for the fact that Dean insisted on driving the Impala here instead of taking the Angel Express.

They get one room, double beds, and the woman who owns the place frowns as Cas follows the boys upstairs, but Dean has no idea how to explain to her that Cas is an angel that's going to teleport back to Manhattan to spend the night with his super soldier boyfriend so he just avoids eye contact as he hustles Sam and Cas up the stairs.

Sam insists on unpacking his bags and putting his clothes in the dresser even though they're hopefully going to be out of here tomorrow, and he keeps giving Dean pointed looks as he unfolds and refolds his t-shirts. Dean ignores them. He has no problem living out of a bag. Unlike Sam, he's not too good for this lifestyle anymore. He hasn't let the Avengers Tower make him soft.

"We'll start canvassing tomorrow morning," Dean says, flopping down on his bed. "Somewhere in this town, there are 14 people being held by a nasty looking dude."

"Do you think the townspeople know about it?"

"I hope not, but we can't rule that out. Why don't you try sweet talking the woman who owns this place tomorrow morning, and I'll see if I can get my hands on some maps or something, see what's around that's big enough to fit some complicated sort of maze."

Sam raises his eyebrows, and Dean flips him off. "I know my Greek mythology. I'm not completely uncultured."

Sam shrugs. "Could've fooled me. And why do I have to charm the woman?"

"Cas sure as hell isn't going to."

"I could attempt it," Cas says from his position by the door. He's is standing perfect straight, a couple inches from the wall like he's standing guard. "I do not posses any magical charms, but I could attempt to sweet talk. Should I refer to her as chocolate or fruit candies?"

Dean laughs and even Sam cracks a smile though he doesn't want to.

* * *

After they've eaten, and Sam lies to Mrs. Finn, they hit the road again. Sam had claimed to be an amateur photographer looking for some places to take artsy pictures, and she'd recommended a lake, some old fashioned house, and a field that was designated conversation land so no one was allowed to build on it.

Apparently it was an overgrown field, and Sam blathered on about how it represented the America of the past and freedom and some other bullshit that Dean tuned out, but that's where they're headed.

They're not going to find a minotaur in a lake, and it isn't living with Mrs. Henderson in her old colonial, but an abandoned patch of land? That sounds promising.

* * *

When they get the area, it's closed off by a rotting wooden fence and rusted barbed wire and there are signs every 100 feet or so that say 'Keep Out' in chipped red paint.

"Let me guess," Sam says, adjusting his backpack. "We're not going to keep out."

"Where would the fun in that be?" Dean hides the Impala keys in the gun compartment underneath the driver's seat and grabs his gear before ducking under the barbed wire. "How much you do want to bet the minotaur's underground?"

"I do not see signs of activity above the surface," Cas says, joining Dean on the inside of the fence. "Therefore, if betting was not immoral then I would bet everything."

"We should go to Vegas next," Dean says, eyes on the ground as he moves forward, trying to find evidence that dirt's been moved or that there's a secret entrance. "Teach you how to gamble. Actually, I bet you could win a lot of money at poker by reading people's minds."

"That is also immoral, Dean."

"Anyone ever tell you you're no fun?"

"You do. All the time."

Dean grins and turns back to see Sam trailing behind them, kicking at the knee length grass with each step he takes. "You all right back there, Mr. Aspiring Photographer?"

"Fine." Sam kicks at the grass some more. "Natasha won't wish us luck."

Dean shouldn't have asked. He should've known that for Sam to go from smiling to frowning in two seconds meant something stupid and emotional.

"She says luck doesn't exist. I told her if we died I was blaming her, and she said if we died then it was our own fault."

Dean would give anything to not be participating in this conversation right now. He doesn't understand Natasha, and frankly, he doesn't really want to. She's a little bit terrifying, and there's no real reason for him and her to be best friends, and they've reached a 'you don't mess with Sam and I won't mess with Clint and everything will be fine' arrangement without ever having to speak a word. That's as much as Dean intends to know Natasha.

"Please tell me you didn't send her a frowny face as a response."

Sam's eyebrows scrunch up in a pout, and Dean's about to give Sam a lecture on emoticons when Dean's next step has the ground crumbling, and Dean falling down into a pit.

"Ow," Dean says as he lands in a heap on the ground. He looks up to see Sam and Cas peering down at him from the surface.

"Light!"

Dean looks around to see a man and a woman rushing over to stand in the small circle of sunlight made by the hole. They're both dirty, and the man has a cut on his forehead, and a stick in one hand, and Dean suddenly has a good idea of why he fell through the ground.

"You've been trying to escape?" Dean asks, motioning to the stick.

The man nods. "We got locked in here." He points to stone walls around them and the one spot where there's a door. "Told we were supposed to sit tight until it was feeding time. Figured they didn't mean they were feeding us so we've been trying to get out. Didn't think it would actually work."

"Hasn't worked yet," Dean says, but he pushes himself to his feet and looks up at Cas. "You want to spirit them out?"

Cas drops down gracefully next to Dean and extends a hand to each of the humans. "I can return you to the surface if you wish."

The man instantly grabs Cas's arm. The woman takes a hesitant step forward and pauses. "You're going to take our place?"

Cas tilts his head to the side. "Take your place? I do not understand."

"Sacrifices," Dean reminds him. "They're supposed to be dinner for the minotaur. She wants to know if we're going to die in their place. The answer is no. We're here to kill the nasty son of a bitch and save all the people. Doing pretty well so far. 2 for 14."

"Minotaur?" The guy shakes his head. "You're looking for plural."

Dean looks up at Sam. "Hear that? It's a real party down here."

Sam sighs and tosses a shotgun and a belt of rounds down. Dean grins and loops it over the shoulder before checking to see if the gun was loaded. "You coming down or are you on freed hostage babysitting duty? If you jump, I can promise to catch you. You're getting heavy."

"You're an idiot," Sam says. He disappears from the hole and a moment later a rope drops over the edge and Sam starts climbing down.

"You're really going to go fight those things?" the woman's now tucked underneath Cas's arm. "They're big. And scary. And one of them almost killed Brandon."

"Cas, take them up," Dean orders. "Get them above ground. Don't let them go home if they're going to be alone. They're a bit traumatized at the moment." Sam lands on the ground and he pulls his own gun out of the bag. "Sammy and I are going to start hunting. Join us as soon as you can."

Cas and his two charges disappear in a flutter of wings and Dean kicks the door open. Immediately an alarm starts blaring.

"Really?" Dean asks, poking his head out and looking down the hallway to the left then to the right. The walls were all make of gray stones, and every few feet there were burning torches to light the way. "We're in some medieval castle maze shit, and there's an alarm system?"

Sam shrugs. "They've had plenty of time to modernize."

"And apparently repopulate. Hopefully these things go down with regular bullets."

"I think we're about to find out," Sam says.

The ground is vibrating slightly beneath their feet, and the torches on the walls begin to shake as the sounds of labored breathing comes closer. A moment later, a minotaur barrels around the corner, his shoulder smacking into the corner and chipping some of the stone.

He's wide, taking up over half the corridor, and his horns curve up, almost hitting the ceiling, and Sam and Dean both cock their shotguns and start firing. The first few shots barely even slow him down, but by the sixth his battle cry turns more into a cry of pain and then he's swaying on his feet and Sam and Dean both unload two rounds into his skull, and he's collapsing on the ground.

The torches shake in their holders as about five hundred pounds of mythological creature slams into the floor, and Dean cautiously approaches him, nudging his shoulder with his boot. He doesn't stir. There's not rise and fall that suggests breathing either.

"Think he's dead?" Dean whispers.

"His life has ended," Cas says from behind him and both brother's jump. If Dean's shotgun had been loaded, he's pretty sure he would've just accidently shot himself in the foot.

"A little warning?" Dean grumbles. He looks down at the body sprawled across the floor and realizes he's going to have to step on it to get by it. Awesome.

"I apologize. The humans are safe. They are in a place called Starbucks and are consuming hot beverages. I told them I will bring the other rescued humans to them as soon as we find them."

"Let's go find them then," Dean says. He walks over the minotaur and starts heading in the direction it came from.

* * *

They find and kill five more, and it isn't the killing that's hard, it's the finding. Dean hates mazes, and he hates how Sam has to stop at every intersection so he can puzzle out which is the best direction to go in.

"I think we're getting closer to the center," Sam says as Cas disappears with the latest two humans they've found.

"That means the end right?" Dean has no idea how Sam's sense of direction isn't completely screwed or how Sam knows that they're closer to the center. They could be right next to the room they started in for all Dean knows.

"Well, there's only two more hostages," Sam says, "and since there's been a minotaur for every two, that should mean there's only one minotaur left. So yes, the end is in sight." Sam peers down the hallway. "Figuratively, of course."

"Right," Dean says. "Onward, then."

* * *

The alarms start blaring again as soon as Sam and Dean push through a large wooden double door. Between the special door and the alarms, they figure they've found the right room.

Unlike the other rooms, this one isn't small and cramped. It's large, circular, and the two hostages are sitting in the middle of the room, bound and gagged. Their eyes widen when they seen Sam and Dean burst in, guns cocked, ready to fire.

"Cas?" Dean says, gazes sweeping the left side of the room while Sam sweeps the right. The room is empty except for the two humans. The boys don't lower their guns, because the minotaur will show up any second now in response in the alarms.

Cas touches the two humans, and the three of them disappear. A moment later the last minotaur thunders into the room.

"Oh shit," Dean says.

This one must be The Minotaur, Dean thinks as it ducks under the doorway to get in. Its legs around the size of Dean, both in length and width, and Dean has to crane his neck to see the thing's head. Its horns looked better than Dean's legs, and Dean has a feeling that shotgun rounds weren't going to do much against it.

He fires off a few rounds anyways. They bounce harmlessly off the thick skin, and Dean pats his pockets, looking for any other weapons. His handgun will be useless. Ruby's knife may or may not have an effect, but Dean doesn't really want to get close enough to try and use it.

Dean and Sam back up towards the far side of the room, wondering if they can go unnoticed.

"So, uh, wanna take bets on why its head hasn't burst through the ground?" Dean whispers. "Thing is huge."

"Magic?" Sam offers. He's fumbling with the zipper on his weapons duffel. He pulls out a small cross bow. "This could pierce armor back in the day. Think it can pierce Asterion's hide?"

"Asterion?" Dean asks as he snatches the crossbow. "You named it?"

Sam rolls his eyes, somehow managing to be annoyed with Dean even when they're in a life threatening situation. "It's the name of the Minotaur. Told you, I know my Greek myths." Sam pauses his lecturing when Dean fires off the arrow. It clunks off Asterion's skin. "So, that's a no on crossbows. How did you know how to fire one anyways? Clint teach you?"

"He doesn't like crossbows," Dean says. He and Sam slide along the wall, trying to stay out of the Minotaur's line of sight while they find something that will work against it. "I learned from watching _Buffy_ when we were kids. There were always marathons on while we were stuck at random hotels."

"Huh." Sam pulls a grenade out of his bag. "We're probably too close range for this."

Dean's eyes almost pop out of his head as he stares. "Where the hell did you get a grenade?"

Sam grins and puts it back. "Natasha." He shoves his hand back in, but in that moment, Asterion spots them.

He bellows and charges, and Dean pulls out Ruby's knife and runs at it. He'll distract it while Sam looks through his bag for something that will hopefully knock this thing on its ass.

Dean dodges the swing of the thing's axe, and really, it gets an axe? It already has tree trunks for legs and abnormally strong arms. He weaves in and slashes at its Achilles with his knife. It doesn't leave a scratch.

"Well," Dean says, "this isn't good. Sammy, you got anything?"

Sam doesn't say anything. Dean wonders if maybe they should try the grenade. Of course, if they bring the maze down on their heads then Asterion might escape and start rampaging through southern Maine, and that wouldn't be good.

Dean dodges another swing of the axe, but he misses the free hand swinging at him, and suddenly he's flying through the air. His back slams into the wall and he slides down to the ground.

"Ow."

There's a ruffle of feathers as Cas appears, and he catches the Minotaur's attention.

"Cas!" Sam cries. "I need you to go to Greece. If the lore's right then Asterion can only be killed with the sword of Aegeus."

"You're sending him to Greece!" Dean shouts. What the hell? Seriously. Dean's getting thrown into walls, and Cas gets to go to Greece?

Cas nods, solemn as ever, and vanishes. Dean groans and wonders what the hell they're supposed to do while Cas tracks down a Grecian sword.

"Come on." Sam's suddenly at Dean's side, tugging on his arm, trying to get him to his feet. "We're going to set off the grenade. Maybe it'll do something good."

"What?" Dean's sure this is a bad idea. He remembers thinking it was a bad idea, but his head hurts, and he wonders if he hit it when he hit the wall. Probably.

Sam loops his arm around Dean's waist and they start trying to sneak again, this time towards the exit. Asterion is still spinning around, trying to figure out where Cas went, and Dean's grateful that at least it's dumb. It's his personal rule that monsters are not allowed to be both super strong and super smart. Demons break that rule. It's why he doesn't like demons.

"I don't like demons," Dean says, and he thinks he words might have slurred together. Is he drunk? He doesn't feel drunk. He feels hurt. Usually drunk makes him feel light and happy and free.

"Oh boy," Sam mutters and he holds Dean even tighter. "You're going to be all right, you understand? We're going to get out of this."

"Course. We've never lost."

"Eh, that's up for debate."

They're almost to the door. The door is important. Dean doesn't quite remember why. He manages to get his feet beneath him, and Sam's pulling the grenade out of his bag when Dean feels a rush of wind over his head.

He looks up to see Asterion's axe finish its arc. Oh. They almost died. That's not good. Asterion raises his axe again, ready to swing, and Dean shoves Sam out the door, to safety. Dean dives out of the way of the weapon, but he ends up further into the room which wasn't where he was trying to go.

Also, he's dizzy. He stumbles as he gets back to his feet, and he's pretty sure he can hear Sam shouting at him, but Sam sounds distorted, like he's shouting from across a busy highway.

Dean sees the glint of the axe coming for him again, and he jumps out of the way, only to get snatched up by Asterion's free hand.

Oh. This isn't good.

Dean shimmies and struggles, but he's stuck. He doesn't want to be stuck. The minotaurs were kidnapping people to eat them. He doesn't want to get eaten by a minotaur. That will mean he dies.

Dean's head clears for a terrifying moment. He's made a deal with a demon. They didn't barter for his soul, but demon deals are still a big no-no. Is he going to hell if he dies? Dean starts struggling again, because he doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to go back to hell.

_Please no. I don't want to die. Cas, where are you? I need you. It's a fucking sword, how hard is it to find? I thought you could do anything? Where are you? CAS!_

Dean can feel the fingers crushing him as the hand brings him closer and closer to Asterion's mouth. Dean's pretty sure his entire head could fit in the thing's mouth no problem. He wants to close his eyes, unsee the sharp incisors and the saliva dripping from the roof of its mouth, but he can't. He's about to get eaten. He's Luke Skywalker, and he's about to be fed to a sand monster, and he's going to be digested for all eternity.

And then there's the telltale whisper of feathers, and Cas is dropping from the sky, and he lands on Asterion's free arm. He's clutching a rusted sword in both of his hands, and he brings it down on Asterion's wrist, lopping off the hand like he's cutting through butter. The axe clatters to the ground, and Cas runs up Asterion's arm until he's at its shoulder.

"Your days of killing are over," Cas says and then he swings the sword out and beheads the Minotaur.

The hand holding Dean goes lax, and he falls to the ground, getting showered with Minotaur blood in the process, but before he can hit the ground, Cas is catching him, careful not to impale Dean on the bloody sword.

"Holy shit," Dean breathes. "You're fucking awesome."

Cas smiles and wipes the tears from Dean's cheek. The action smears blood across his face. "I will always save you," Cas says, quiet, so only Dean can hear him.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Hunt after-care which somehow translates to relationship fluff. Also, brother bonding.

* * *

Dean's not quite sure how they get back to the tower. All he knows is that one minute he's passing out in Cas's arms like he's the chick in some action flick and the next, he's stumbling through the door to his suite.

"I'm fine," Dean mumbles, shoving away Cas's hands. His shoulder knocks into the doorway, and he almost falls on his face.

"You are not fine, and Clint is still at SHIELD. I do not wish to leave you unattended."

"I'm just going to sleep." Dean's steady enough to walk in an almost straight line back to his bedroom. He's grateful when Cas doesn't follow. He owes Cas for saving his life, and he hasn't forgotten what Cas whispered as he caught Dean_. I will always save you_. Dean owes Cas more than he could ever pay back. He's not going to make Cas coddle and care for him.

"You will call if you need me?"

Dean waves his hand which isn't really an answer, but he hears Cas's soft footsteps walking away, and Dean breathes out a sigh of relief. Of all the people to see Dean like this, weak and vulnerable, he'd prefer it to be Cas, because Cas has seen him at his absolute worse, but obviously he'd rather that no one see him when he's like this.

Dean gets to the edge of his bed and realizes that he's covered in dirt and Minotaur blood, and he's pretty sure Clint would kill him if he crawled into their bed like this. Dean should take a quick shower before he collapses.

He weaves towards the bathroom, slowly stripping, mindful of the injuries he's sustained. Thanks to Asterion's friendly squeeze, no part of Dean doesn't hurt, and every time he draws a breath pain shoots up and down his body. He wonders if he'll be able to sleep through the worst of the pain.

Dean's eyeing the large bathtub as he turns the shower on. He can't remember the last time he took an actual bath, and he's sure his limbs would welcome a nice warm soak. He turns the hot water on and steps into the shower to rinse off as the tub fills, because he doesn't want to wallow in blood and gunk.

It takes him longer than he thought to get off the layers of grime and finally get all the little grains of dirt out of his scalp, and the bath is nearly full as he steps out of the shower. He turns off the faucet and tests the water. It's hot, hot enough that he should run some cold water but there isn't enough space left so maybe he should wait, but he doesn't want to wait.

He's swaying on his feet, he can feel his muscles tightening with each passing moment, and he just wants to sink into the comfort of hot water.

So he does.

It burns at his skin, but the unpleasantness fades after a moment and as the water gently laps at his neck, he begins to relax.

The Minotaur threat has been taken care of. Sam and Cas are both safe inside the tower, and with the people they care about. Clint is probably at work, but he's just training today and that's safe, and he'll be home soon, and that's good.

Dean's muscles are loosening under the insistent heat of the water, and he's finding it a sudden struggle to keep his head from leaning back against the cool tile, and he's not sure why that should be a problem anyways, and suddenly his limbs feel heavy and his head feels weightless, and it's a weird juxtaposition and then he feels nothing at all.

* * *

Dean hears the turn of a doorknob, and he blinks wearily, his head muddled with sleep. His first instinct is to reach for a weapon, but then he sees Clint, blurry because Dean's eyes still haven't woken up completely, and he settles back down immediately.

"You're lucky you didn't drown," Clint says but there's only mild reproach in his voice. He pulls the stop for the bathtub and the water starts to drain.

Dean looks down and realizes that he's in the bathtub. The water's gone cool which means he was sleeping for at least half an hour. At least his muscles haven't stiffened up on him.

"You mean you're lucky," Dean says, voice scratchy and a little deeper than usual.

Clint runs his hand through Dean's hair, which is still damp from his shower. "Lucky's one word for it. Come on, on your feet. Dinner's ready."

"I missed you cooking?" Dean sounds both teasing and disappointed, and Clint contemplates dropping him as he helps Dean to his feet. But as he tries to keep a hold on Dean's slick skin, Clint's cataloguing all the bruises, scrapes, and gashes, and he's not going to add to those injuries, even if Dean deserves a smack to the back of his head.

Instead, Clint grabs a towel and towels Dean dry.

"I'm not a baby," Dean protests.

Dean runs through the short list of things he could say that would make Clint jerk back from him, that would cause the walls to come crashing down, that would make Clint clench his jaw and walk out the door, and that was Dean's go-to when Sam got too overbearing. He'd say something quick, nasty to make Sam storm off and then Dean would take care of himself.

He can never bring himself to say any of those things with Clint. He thinks them, when he's raw at the edges and feeling helpless and hating that Clint's trying to take care of him like Clint thinks he's helpless too, but Clint knows how Dean feels, because Clint feels the same way sometimes, so Clint steps back, just enough to give Dean space, to let Dean make the decision.

And Dean leans into Clint's chest, because Clint's given him the choice. He's saying 'I know you can do that, I don't doubt you, I will never doubt you, but I want to help you,' and that's all Dean needs.

They stand there, cheek to cheek in the middle of the bathroom for a long moment, before Clint rubs the towel through Dean's hair one last time.

"Dinner?" Clint asks. He drops the towel, lets his fingers smooth through Dean's hair, gently rubs at his scalp, and Dean goes still beneath the touch.

"Yeah."

Clint hands Dean a pair of clean boxers and doesn't offer to help him put them on. Dean's unsteady on his feet, but he manages to slide his boxers up, and they head into the kitchen for pasta and garlic bread.

* * *

Dean has to lean on Clint to get back to the bathroom after they eat dinner, and he barely manages to hold his toothbrush up as he brushes his teeth. He's clean, he's full, and he's exhausted. His limbs are heavy, pulling him down, and he wants to sink down onto the floor and sleep.

"Hey," Clint says and he stands behind Dean and pins his hips to the counter to keep Dean from slipping bonelessly to the floor. "Almost time for bed. Just another minute, okay?"

"You're so demanding," Dean tries to say, but he says it around his toothbrush, and his mouth is quite working properly anyways so who only knew what sounds came out of his mouth and whether Clint understood them.

"I can't wait to hear about it all tomorrow," Clint says, his hands running up and down Dean's shoulders, his body a comforting presence. "You're never like this except on rough trips, and you fought a Minotaur which is pretty badass."

Dean rinses and spits. "I'm pretty badass."

Clint laughs and presses a kiss to the back of Dean's neck. Dean's pretty sure he blushes which totally ruins his badass reputation.

"You're something, all right." Clint laces his fingers through Dean's and tugs him towards the bed.

Dean follows him without hesitation, and Clint knows that Dean's so tired he probably can't even think, but maybe that's what makes him grin so wide. Dean, when all his walls have been stripped away, when he can barely stand on his own feet, trusts Clint. Trusts him completely and implicitly. Trusts him to take care of him, trusts him not to hurt him, trusts him to know what he wants and to make sure he gets it.

Clint pulls back the covers and climbs into bed, pulling Dean in with him. Clint drapes an arm over Dean's chest and twines their legs together until Clint is half on Dean, half on the bed. Dean likes to be held even if he'll never admit it with words. Sometimes he'll come to bed and lay down on his back, and Clint will know, and he'll lie down just as he is now, holding Dean, protecting him with his body, and Dean will relax completely beneath him.

"I love you," Clint says, the words murmured against the side of Dean's lips.

"Mm." Dean's eyes blink lazily, and he parts his lips, moving forward to kiss Clint more thoroughly.

Clint kisses him briefly and then scoots down to tuck his head into Dean's neck. They both have issues accepting each other's help even after all the time they've had to get used to it. They're not used to getting something for nothing, uneasy with the idea of accepting help but exchanging for it is okay.

Clint always makes breakfast the next morning after Dean's taken care of him or pesters Tony about a new weapon for the boys to try out on demons. Dean's not on a team with a genius inventor, and he always offers himself, because it's the one thing he has, the one thing he has confidence in.

Dean's too tired to put up much of a fight now, so he doesn't chase Clint's lips, doesn't try to start anything else, but Clint knows that he'll wake up with Dean mouthing at his neck or with lips wrapped warm and tight around his dick. As far as ways to wake up, it isn't bad.

* * *

Clint wakes up to the light touch of fingers on his chest. He looks down his body to see Dean's left hand idly tracing Enochian symbols on Clint's chest. His right hand is holding Clint's, and Clint feels both grounded and overwhelmed by the gesture.

Neither of them are particularly good with emotions, a source of constant frustration for Sam, so they don't often have talks about feelings and what they mean to each other, but in moments like these, they don't need words.

Dean's tracing a protection sigil into Clint's chest as if he can keep Clint safe by sheer force of will, and his palm is warm against Clint's and their fingers are intertwined, Dean's tight around his, almost desperate like he's afraid of losing him. Usually Dean gets like this after Clint's come back from a particularly rough mission, but every once in a while Dean will get blindsided by his new life, by this relationship, how everything is actually going well, and he'll get panicked and agitated, and it can sometimes take days to calm him down.

Dean never admits that that's what's going through his head, but it's obvious to Clint, just like it's obvious now. Dean's clinging to him, marking him, trying to hold onto something that isn't going anywhere. Clint wonders whether it was Dean or Sam who almost died this trip, but it doesn't really matter.

"Hey," Clint says softly. He keeps his one hand firmly in Dean's grasp and uses the other to tilt Dean's chin up. "Morning."

Dean smiles, worry and fatigue bleeding out, leaving only a warm, genuine affection on his face. "Morning. I was pretty out of it last night."

"Yeah." Clint's thumb grazes Dean's stubble. "You came home pretty beat up. You owe me a story later."

"Later?" Usually they talk over the hunt or the mission the morning after over breakfast, to get everything out on the table, so they can figure out if they need space or to be together or to just slip back into the comfort of routine.

Clint smiles and rolls on top of Dean, using his weight to pin him to the mattress, a reassuring press of skin that says _I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, you're safe, we're fine_. Clint kisses him, to press the point home, and Dean's hands grip Clint's shoulders and pull him closer.

Clint kisses Dean slowly, lazily, pulling back every time Dean tries to deepen the kiss. His hands stroke up and down Dean's arms, a soothing motion that's making Dean's eyelids droop. Clint wonders if he should feel guilty for making Dean drowsy with early morning kisses, but Dean needs to sleep more.

His entire torso is a mess of bruises—purple and blue and even some dark red coloring his skin.

"Lazy mornings are good," Dean mumbles against Clint's lips. "We should do this more often."

"Mm," Clint agrees. He nuzzles Dean's neck, mouthing at the skin right under his ear when he hears the door to their suite open.

He can feel Dean freeze underneath him, and Clint pushes himself into a sitting position, automatically reaching to the bedside table for a weapon. Jarvis should've told them if there was a threat present, and Clint's probably overreacting, but no one ever enters their room without knocking.

Sam did once, and what he walked in on made sure he never did it again.

There's an urgent knock at the bedroom door, and Clint relaxes his grip on his knife, but he doesn't relax completely.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Steve says, "but Dean is needed."

Clint looks down at Dean, his eyes half-parted, almost asleep, a look of drugged contentment on his face. "Tell SHIELD to fuck off. He deserves his rest."

"It's not SHIELD," Steve says. "It's Sam."

Dean snaps awake in a moment, and he sits up so fast his vision grays and he almost falls over. "Shit," he says. He shakes his head to clear his vision, but the movement hurts his neck, and he curses again. "I'm coming. What's wrong with him?"

Dean pushes himself out of bed, and Clint helps him into a pair of sweatpants. Dean tries to remember if Sam had any major injuries from the Minotaur. He's pretty sure Sammy had been fine. They'd both been knocked about a bit, but Dean had had it worse. Made sure he had it worse.

Had something happened when Dean was being squeezed to death? Or maybe after he'd been thrown into the wall? Dean's head is pounding, and all of his wounds which had been dormant while he was lying in bed, are now throbbing, reminding him that he's in rough shape.

"I don't know," Steve says and the worry in his voice has Dean moving faster than he should and his muscles pull, too tight to give him the range of motion he wants.

Dean stumbles behind Steve, following him into the kitchen. Cas is kneeling on the floor, and Sam's body is curled around him, his shoulders shaking, his fingers digging into Cas's ankles and holding on tight.

"Shit," Dean says and he drops to the ground and pulls Sam off the ground. "Shit, Sam. What happened?"

Sam clings to Dean's shoulders, and he buries his face in Dean's neck, pressing himself against Dean like he's trying to lose him, and it brings back memories of when Sam was little and too scared to sleep in his own bed, and he'd crawl into Dean's and cuddle close, because he trusted Dean to protect him.

"Hey," Dean says, and he wraps his arms around Sam, pulling him in for a tight hug. "It's okay, buddy. It's going to be okay." Dean runs a reassuring hand through Sam's hair, trying to calm him down. "I'm going to take you back to our room, okay? And I'm going to get you some breakfast, and everything's going to be okay."

"No!" Sam's fingers claw at Dean's chest, trying to grab a hold of his skin, and Dean drops his hands to Sam's, trying to quell the frantic struggling before Sam claws bloody gashes into Dean's chest.

"Woah," Dean says as he wraps his hands around Sam's. They go still under his touch, under the reassurance that Dean isn't letting him go. "Calm down. I'm not going anywhere. Someone will make you breakfast and bring it to us, okay? We're going to stand up now, but I need you to help. Can you do that?"

Sam nods and his hands fall flat against Dean's chest. Dean takes a slow breath and pushes to his feet, wincing as his muscles strain from having to lift both him and Sam off the ground. He has no idea what's happened to Sam, why he's like this, but he'll wait until they're in relative privacy to find out. Sam will be embarrassed enough when he realizes that Steve and Cas saw him in this state.

Cas lays his hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean startles, having forgotten he was there. "I will ensure that sam gets his egg white omelet. Green peppers, mushrooms, ham, and onions."

Dean has no idea how Cas knows how Sam likes his eggs in the morning, and he doesn't understand how Sam can eat an omelet with fungus on it, but he doesn't understand egg whites either.

"Thanks, Cas." Dean wraps an arm around Sam's waist, and they make slow progress back to the suite that neither of them have been using. Sam leans heavily on Dean, and Dean's chest aches with having to support both their weight.

Dean's grateful when they reach the door, because his legs are starting to shake, and he's not sure how much longer he's going to be able to hold both of them up. "You're filthy. Didn't you shower last night?"

Sam's head rolls to the left then to the right like it's too much effort to properly shake his head.

Dean frowns as he sits Sam down on the bed, keeping a hand on his shoulder for balance. "You always shower after a hunt." Dean looks Sam over, searching for the answers to his question. Sam has dark circles under his eyes, and dirt streaked across his face and some scratches on his arms, but Dean doesn't seen any signs of a major injury, of what has put Sam in this state.

Sam shrugs. "Couldn't do it on my own. Hurt too much. Natasha didn't help."

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, and does his best to count to five in an attempt to calm himself. It doesn't work, but he doesn't start tearing through the tower searching for Natasha, because Sam needs someone with him, need someone at his side, and Dean's not going to abandon him, but later he'll track down Natasha, and he'll kick her ass.

"I'm sorry," Dean says pulling Sam in for a hug. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I should've been there. I shouldn't have left you." This is why it can only be the two of them. Only they know how to take care of each other, how to keep each other whole. Dean can't trust anyone else to look after his brother, and he can't believe he'd left him. Dean had put his own wants above Sam's, and he shouldn't have done that. Dean should've stayed by Sam's side until he was okay instead of stumbling back to find Clint.

Brothers don't leave each other. Sam and Dean don't leave each other. Except Dean did. He left Sam for Clint, and now Sam's messed up, because Dean is a screw up and a shit brother, and Dean needs to make this right.

"Okay," Dean says, pulling himself together. "Let's get you in the shower, get you clean, and when you get out, there'll be food for you. Sound good?"

"Very good."

Dean stands outside the shower curtain, talking, while Sam briefly showers. It's hard to keep up a steady stream of chatter, and usually Dean would scoff and refuse to, but Sam is so needy right now, and it's all Dean's fault so he talks. He talks to Sam about how he was sorry they fought about the music on the way to kill the minotaurs and that next time Sam can choose what they listen to on the way to the hunt, and he talks about how Dean used to be into Greek mythology and thought it was cool and fascinating and then John had explained that the fantastic creatures were actually horrific monsters and one day Dean would probably have to kill them and Dean never picked up a mythology book again.

Dean tells Sam how proud he is that Sam knew all the lore on the minotaur and how he even knew the damn thing's name and what sword to use to kill it, and then Sam's stumbling of the shower, and he looks like he's crying, so Dean wraps a towel around his brother's waist and brings him back out to the bedroom.

There's a plate resting on the bed with an omelet on it and a fork resting next to it, and Dean smiles and keeps talking as he coaxes Sam to eat. He moves from the hunt to their past, because taking to Sam like this reminds Dean of when they were younger.

He tells Sam about the time John left them in a motel room that didn't even have a TV and how they'd gotten so bored they decided to play detective and accidently ended up witnesses to a murder. He helps Sam into his sweatpants and tucks him into bed and sits next to him, stroking his hair as he recounts how they'd helped the police catch the murderer, and how excited Sam had been that they'd helped the police, especially when they got a tour of the cruiser and Sam got to look at the policeman's gun and handcuffs.

Dean leaves out the part where John had yelled at Dean for three hours for talking to the police, because what if they had recognized them or gone back to the hotel room and found the spare weapons and the fake IDs, and Dean could've ruined everything, and Dean had yelled right back saying that they'd brought about justice and done something good, but he hadn't told John about the picture the police officer had given him. It was a Polaroid of Sam with the police officer's hat on his head and tipping forward, covering his eyes because it was too big, so all you could see was the hat, and Sam's impossibly bright smile.

* * *

At some point, Dean falls asleep too, because he wakes up, still sitting against the headboard, his hand still resting in Sam's hair, and Dean's back is screaming with pain. It had hurt yesterday, and falling asleep sitting up had done nothing good.

Dean winces and shifts, trying to get comfortable, and Sam's eyes immediately snap open, looking for danger. He relaxes when Dean's fingers curl in his hair, a reminder that Dean's here.

"Sorry," Sam says and he's pulling away and not meeting Dean's eyes in the way that means he's embarrassed so Dean looks over at the window to give Sam some privacy. "I," Sam stretches out and winces with the movement. "I should go and do some yoga or something."

Dean wants to say don't strain yourself or I'm sorry for leaving you alone or are you sure you're all right, but he knows Sam doesn't want to hear any of those so Dean rolls his eyes and instead says, "Yoga? Are you serious?" His scorn is only half-hearted, but Sam doesn't call him on it, just shrugs and slinks out of the room.

Dean groans and throws his legs over the side of the bed. He needs to eat something, and he needs to take a lot of pain killers and then maybe watch some TV. His entire body hurts, he's a terrible brother, and—

"Sam says he's headed to the gym," Clint says, appearing in the doorway. He comes into the bedroom to grab the plate and fork leftover from Sam's breakfast. "You should eat something."

"I'm not hungry," Dean says, even though he'd just been thinking about eating, and he's already on his feet, ready to go scrounge the cupboards for something to put in his stomach.

Clint smiles and loops his free arm around Dean's waist. "Something's bothering you. You want to talk about it before or after food?"

"I don't want to talk about it at all."

Clint laughs and half-drags Dean towards the kitchen. "Of course you don't." His smile slips off as he puts the dishes in the sink and turns around to face Dean. He's suddenly completely serious, and Dean knows that they're about to _talk_, and he's had enough of that. "It's not your fault."

"I hate you," Dean says, automatic, when what he really means is _how you do you what I'm thinking_.

Clint smiles like he knows what Dean's really trying to say. "No you don't, because I'm the guy who's about to make you chocolate chip pancakes."

Clint starts pulling out ingredients, and Dean sinks down into an island chair. Clint doesn't blame Dean for screwing up Sam, but that's okay. Dean blames himself enough for the both of them.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Neither of the Winchesters have a good chapter.

* * *

Dean does his best to give Sam space, but after Sam's missed lunch and shown no signs of showing up for dinner, Dean goes to find him.

He tries Natasha's suite, but the door is locked, and Dean hesitates, debating whether Sam has locked him inside to avoid people or whether Natasha's the one locking people out.

"Your brother is in his suite," Jarvis says, and it's a sign that Dean's been living in this tower for too long when he doesn't startle at the sound of the AI's voice.

"Thanks," Dean says and he heads towards the Winchester suite which has been devoid of long-term occupants since they got here. He knows something had to have happened between Sam and Natasha if she'd leave him out to dry after a mission, but he hadn't realized it was bad enough that she was kicking Sam out of the room.

He briefly wonders if maybe Sam had moved out, but he knows his brother. He wouldn't have left willingly. When he falls, he falls hard, in an all in bet the farm kind of way.

Dean's worried that he's going to find empty cartons of ice cream scattered across the room, but when he pushes the door open, Sam is at the desk, tapping away on his computer. He's in reasonably clean clothes, and there's a Red Bull within reach but far enough away that Sam won't accidently knock it over onto his computer.

Dean waits for Sam to look up or acknowledge him, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the computer screen, flitting between windows, occasionally scrawling something on a piece of paper or typing into a Word Document.

"Hey," Dean says, and Sam jumps like he hadn't realized Dean come in, even though Dean hadn't exactly been quiet when he came through the door.

Sam's eyes dart over and then away, and a slight blush rises up in his cheeks. He's still embarrassed about what happened. Dean wants to roll his eyes, because that's stupid. Dean's been taking care of Sam since Sam was a baby. This is nothing new for them, and it's nothing for Sam to be ashamed of.

"I'm fine," Sam says. He takes a long drink from his Red Bull and goes back to the computer.

Dean doesn't point out that he hadn't asked how Sam was doing. He'd just said hi. "You weren't at lunch or dinner."

"Don't need you to cut the crusts off my sandwiches," Sam mutters. "I'm fine."

Right, Dean thinks. Clearly, he's not fine. "I can bring you a sandwich with the crusts still on." He tries to make it a joke, but Dean doesn't feel like laughing, and the corners of Sam's lips don't so much as twitch.

Dean lingers in the doorway for a moment longer, awkward and unwanted, before he concedes defeat and heads out. Sam's right. He's a big boy. If he's hungry then he can walk to the kitchen and get something for himself.

The kitchen is where Dean goes to as well. He needs a beer. Possibly several. The hunt went okay, but the aftermath's been shitty, and Dean hadn't had his post-hunt victory beer yet; too out of it when he got back from the hunt and on too many pain meds this morning. He'd stopped taking the painkillers so he'd be clear to drink tonight, and it had definitely been a good decision.

Stupid punk brothers, Dean thinks, reaching in to grab two beers. He reconsiders and just grabs the whole six pack, and he brings it up to the roof. Something's wrong, and Dean wants to help. It's Dean's role as older brother to help.

The night air is sharp and cool as Dean reaches the roof. The city is still loud, because Manhattan doesn't know how to be quiet, but it isn't the jumbled frenzied mess of noise that marks the daytime. There's some muffled yelling, and there's the occasionally cabbie honking, but mostly it's the sounds of the city mixed with the music from local dance clubs or cars that are stopped at the traffic lights down below.

Dean stretches out, cataloguing each movement and evaluating how much pain it causes and how much range of motion he has. From the beating he's took, it'll be at least a week before he's feeling better. Probably two or three before he's ready to be back in the field.

He doesn't like the idea of having to sit around on his ass for the next three weeks. He can already feel that familiar itch underneath his skin, the one that makes him get up and move, the one that causes him to risk his life and over and over just for the hope that one day it'll be enough, and he'll be able to sit with his thoughts and not feel the need to move, to do more, to try and get away from himself.

That day certainly isn't today, and Dean pops the cap off one of his beers and takes a long drink. It's probably not a good idea for him to be drinking like this. His body's still not responding the way it's supposed to be so he might accidently tumble off the roof, and his sour mood's only going to get worse with alcohol, but the hope that he'll achieve that fuzzy level of drunk where everything seems to be okay is what makes him tip the bottle back again.

He wants to forget about the pain in his body and the ache in his chest and the way that Sam's blowing him off. He wants to forget about the deal he's made with Crowley and how the future doesn't hold anything good for him. He wants to forget about everything and just exist for a few moments. Is that really too much to ask for?

The roof access door opens, and Dean really hopes that it isn't Cas or Steve who's followed him up here. He's not in the mood for a pep talk or quiet judgment or even the earnest desire to help they both have. Dean doesn't want to talk. He just wants to be.

Clint sinks down next to Dean and plucks a beer out of the case. "Nice night."

Dean can't help it. He snorts into his beer. "The weather? Really? You came up here to talk about the weather?"

Clint grins, and it smoothes away some of the lines on his face, the lines that say he's lived far too much in the years he's been alive. Dean has a fair number of those lines as well.

"Sure as hell beats talking about everything else."

It's an invitation to talk without being blatant about it. Dean knows Clint well enough to know that something's troubling him, and Clint knows Dean well enough that Dean doesn't feel like talking right now. Meaning it's up to Dean now. Is he going to be selfish and let them sit in silence or he is going to figure out what's up with Clint?

Dean sets his beer down and leans back on his hands. "Everything else that bad?"

Clint hesitates, and Dean has a moment to wonder if he's misread the situation, but then Clint's taking a pull of his beer and once he swallows he starts talking. "Natasha requested to go on a mission."

Not unusual, Dean thinks. Clint requests to go on missions all the time, and Dean can always find a hunt whenever he needs to get out of the tower. None of them are good at sitting still, too much in their pasts to make up for.

"She specifically requested that I didn't accompany her. Coulson came to find me to make sure everything was okay between us. Either I fucked up without realizing it or something's off with her."

Dean thinks back to this morning, finding Sam curled up on the floor of the kitchen. He thinks about the locked door, about Sam now living in the Winchester suite. "I'm going to hazard a guess and say something's up with her."

Clint groans and sets his beer aside so he can lie down. "I know. It's obvious something happened between her and Sam, and she obviously doesn't want to talk about it which is why she made sure I was grounded, but I don't like it. I don't care how easy the mission is supposed to be, she's not completely put together and that makes it dangerous."

Dean wants to point out that it's his brother who they found amidst a breakdown, because Natasha had left him alone when she clearly knew he couldn't be alone after missions. He wants to be angry with Clint for sympathizing with Natasha, because clearly she has to be at fault, because Sam would never hurt anyone, but he doesn't want to fight right now. It's too much effort.

Clint and Natasha have something, and Dean understands feeling protective of someone, understands feeling like you owe them, like you're responsible for making sure they're okay, and he knows that Clint will defend Natasha with the same blind determination Dean will defend Sam so they can't get talk about this.

"At least Sam's dealing by holing himself up in his room," Dean finally says. "No danger to himself or others there."

"She's with Kelvin." Clint wraps his fingers around the neck of the bottle but doesn't pick it up. "He's good, but he's not on her level, and he doesn't know how to work with her on her good days let alone her bad ones. Shit, I should've argued. I should've insisted that I go along." Clint slams his fist onto the roof.

"Hey." Dean covers Clint's hand with his own. "It's not your fault."

Clint laughs, short and harsh. "You do realize the irony of you saying that, right?"

Dean smiles and works Clint's fist open so he can thread his fingers through Clint's. "Yeah. Guess there's a bit of irony there, but I do mean it. You know Natasha better than anyone. If she wants to do something then she will and no one will be able to stop her."

Clint breathes out a slow sigh, the tension slipping from his body on the exhale. "She hasn't locked me out like this in years. I'm just worried."

Dean thinks about Sam, hands shaking from too much caffeine and not enough food, his eyes blurry from staring at a computer screen for too long, and he gives Clint's hand a squeeze. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

Dean goes into Sam's room in the morning with a plate stacked high with pancakes. Sam is face down on his computer, drool slipping out the corner of his mouth. Dean sighs and sets the pancakes gently down on the desk. He should really get Sammy to bed or at the very least the couch. It can't be good for him to be sleeping slumped over like this, especially with his injuries.

Dean gently slides Sam's chair out, intending to lift him and put him to bed without waking him, but Sam jolts awake, and Dean almost gets smacked in the face.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam demands as he figures out what's going on. "You don't go around molesting people in their sleep."

"I was trying to get you into bed," Dean says. "So you didn't wake up with a crick in your neck."

Sam glares and crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't need you to take care of me. I'm fine."

Right, Dean thinks. Sam's fine. That's why he was a mess on the kitchen floor. That's why he needed Dean to help him shower. Because he's fine.

"Does that mean you don't want me to leave the pancakes?"

Sam eyes them, and Dean can see the debate raging on his face, whether it's worth keeping fresh made food if Dean had been the one to bring it. Dean rolls his eyes and decides he's not going to sit around to see how this debate ends.

"Whatever. If you don't want them then you can throw them out." Dean stomps out of the room and almost runs face first into Tony Stark.

"Woah there," Tony says, reaching out a hand and stopping Dean before they crash. "You all right there?"

"Oh, fine," Dean says. "Just have a brother who's as stubborn as shit."

"Fuck you!" Sam calls from inside the suite.

Tony looks like he wants nothing to do with this.

Dean turns back to the doorway. "Fuck me? Fuck you! All I have ever tried to do is take care of you, but you act like you're too good for it."

Sam laughs, harsh and biting. "I never asked you to do that Dean. I don't need you to take care of me."

"You never should have to ask," Dean shouts back and he wishes they were having this conversation face to face, but he knows that if there wasn't a wall between them right now then they'd be throwing punches, and it's too soon after a rough hunt to be beating each other up. "I'm your older brother. I protect you. That's what I do."

"Right. Perfect older brother. Forgot about that. At least dad raised one of us right."

Dean's hands curls into fists. "Are you seriously bringing dad into this?"

"I have to admit, he did a good job brainwashing you," Sam sneers. "Oh wait, you prefer training, right? He trained you to be a good son, a good hunter. Even trained you to be a good brother, but he forgot to train you to be yourself. You have spent my entire life trying to take care of me, but do you know what? You're the screwed up one so why don't you stop being so fucking selfless and fix yourself?"

Sam is yelling by the end of his rant, and Dean takes each angry word, each accusation as a blow to the chest. He stumbles back into the far wall, still staring into the empty doorway. Sam thinks Dean was trained to take care of him? Like it's something Dean doesn't do naturally, because it's the right thing, because Sam is his little brother? He's never expected Sam to thank him, because this isn't something that deserves recognition, it's just something that it exists, but for Sam to hate him for it? Fuck that.

Dean knocks his head lightly against the wall. _You're the screwed up one. _Dean's the screwed up one? He wants to scream back that Sam's the one who was the devil's destined vessel, who'd been a freaking demon blood junkie, but Dean presses his lips together, because it's too soon to say that. It'll always be too soon to say it. Dean can't hurt Sam like that, even if Sam doesn't appear to be pulling any punches.

_Why don't you stop being so fucking selfless and fix yourself?_

"Why don't I," Dean says, no more than a whisper. He knows how to fix himself. He needs to kill Alastair. Alastair's the one who messed with his head, who keeps hell a fresh nightmare in Dean's head. Once Alastair is gone, Dean can relax.

"Dean?" Sam calls, hesitant, like he's aware he's just crossed a line.

Dean's not even sure where the line is anymore they're so far over it. But Sam had a point. Dean needs to go fix himself. It's not like he can rely on anyone else to do it. Dad raised him to be able to work alone, prepared him for the day when dad would leave, and Dean's spent his entire life being left by Sam. He's used to being alone. He's good at being alone.

"Off to go fix myself," Dean calls cheerfully. "Try not to overdose on Red Bull and die. Oh, sorry, was that too overprotective for you?" Dean scowls at the wall separating him and Sam, and he goes to his room to grab the keys to the Impala.

* * *

Dean spends two hours driving before his head is finally clear enough to think, and as he's driving through Scranton and looking at signs for 84 and 81, he realizes that he has no idea where he's going. He hopped into the car to burn off his anger, but he can't just drive until he runs into Alastair.

Dean's tires screech as he pulls a sharp right into a diner that looked like it's seen better days. When in doubt, eat. It's a good philosophy, one Dean hadn't picked up from his father. Well, he supposes in a sense he'd gotten it from John.

Food had never been a priority growing up. John was obsessive, fixating on tracking down the yellow-eyed demon or whatever hunt he was currently on and basic human needs like food and sleep and even hygiene often escaped him.

Dean had learned to eat whenever the opportunity presented itself, and when John was away and Dean was in charge of Sam, he always made sure there was plenty of food for Sam to choose from, because Dean remembered the long hours in the Impala, staring wistfully as blue signs that advertised Hoss's and Sizzler and even McDonalds. Sometimes Dean would close his eyes and imagine John pulling off at the next exit, but the Impala never turned off the highway, just kept going until it got where John wanted to go.

Dean shoves aside thoughts of his dad and his childhood as he pushes the diner door open and heads to an empty booth. The menus are tucked between the napkin holder and the wall, and Dean takes one and flips through even though diners like these are pretty much all the same.

He's debating between the bacon burger and the sausage sub when the waitress comes over. She's slim and blond and her lips are too red, and she's eyeing Dean with a leer that looks completely out of place on her face. Dean instinctively reaches into his pocket to curl his fingers around the hilt of Ruby's knife.

"Glad to see you're not a complete idiot," the waitress says with a bright smile.

Dean frowns, wondering if he's misheard her, because her smile and her words aren't lining up, and then he sees the curl of her lips, the brief flash of white in her eyes, and Dean lets go of Ruby's knife, because it won't do anything to Crowley except piss him off.

"Why are you here?" Dean asks. "And why are you a woman?"

"You don't like this body?" Crowley smirks and runs his hands down his sides, showing off. "I monitor your activity, and when you stormed off, alone and started breaking every traffic law created by mankind, I figured I should make sure you weren't about to do something stupid and get yourself killed before you completed your job."

"Didn't know you cared." Dean made a show of looking through the menu. "Speaking of the job you have for me."

Crowley hesitates. "You're in a reckless mood. If I tell you now then you're going to rush in and get yourself killed. Tell you what, in three days I will have Alastair at the Hopatcong State Park. There's an abandoned boathouse. Bring the Colt and kill him."

Dean has a lot of questions. First of all, where the hell is Hopatcong State Park? How is Crowley going to get Alastair to some dusty boathouse? But more importantly, what's the catch? Dean's clearly not going to ask that last one, Crowley will never give him a straight answer, but he's going to have to figure it out soon.

Dean doesn't have a chance to ask anything, because suddenly the waitress if falling forward, and Dean barely gets his arms out to catch her before she hits her head on the table. Crowley's gone and Dean's now got his arms full of de-possessed human. Looks like he's not getting answers or lunch.

* * *

Dean gets back to the tower before Clint's home from work so he doesn't have to deal with his questions, and Sam's too much of a coward to track Dean down and talk to him which means Dean gets a couple hours of peace.

He looks up Hopatcong State Park and learns that his great showdown is going to take place in New Jersey. Dean's now positive that this is somehow a trap or a set-up, and he's pissed that Crowley's going to try and kill him in New Jersey. Dean isn't dying in New Jersey. Any other state, if there's a good enough reason, he'll die. Not New Jersey.

After Dean scours the satellite images of Hopatcong State Park and finds the boathouse and learns every possible entrance and exit, he goes up to the roof to try and figure out what Crowley's angle is.

He's known since he first made the deal that there was something shady. Demons didn't make deals that didn't benefit them more than the person they were dealing with, and Dean had made a deal with _the_ deal making demon. There's no way Crowley doesn't have plans to screw Dean over. Dean just needs to figure out what they are.

_Bring the Colt and kill him_.

Of course. Dean actually smacks his forehead, because of course that's the play. Crowley wants the Colt. The Colt can kill pretty much anything. Crowley can cement his rule over hell with the Colt. Hell, he might even be able to rule heaven if he gets a hold of the Colt.

It makes perfect sense now that Dean thinks about it. Alastair kills Dean, Crowley gets the Colt and kills Alastair. Or, Dean kills Alastair and Crowley kills Dean and gets the Colt. Either way, Dean ends up dead and Crowley ends up with the Colt.

Which means Dean is definitely not bringing the Colt. He'll bring Ruby's knife, and that way, if he dies, Crowley will only have the ability to kill demons, not everything else in existence.

Dean's planning is interrupted when Tony flops down next to him. The older man doesn't say anything, just hands Dean a flask and stretches out to stare up at the sky.

Dean takes a swig, welcoming the burn of the alcohol. "Thanks."

Tony shrugs. "You seemed like you needed it, and I wasn't going to give it to you before your road trip."

Dean remembers that Tony had been a witness to Dean and Sam's fight. "I needed to clear my head."

"And now you need it to be muddled." Tony nods towards the flask. "I get it. Believe me, I get it." Tony blows out a sigh. "Sometimes I wonder how we ended up being the ones in charge of saving the world."

Dean laughs and takes another drink. "Haven't you talked to Cas? It's fate. Heaven's will. Fucking pre-destined. Someone's idea of a joke." Dean's silent for a moment, considers the drink in his hand. "Or maybe it's the only way to get us to keep living."

"Shit," Tony says and he swipes the flask to take a drink. "I'm going to need to be a lot more drunk for this conversation."

Dean grins, and takes the flask back. The smile slips from his face after a moment though, because he'd meant it. Dean knows he's screwed up, and that's why he fights so hard, because he needs to balance out what he's done, he needs to try and make up for it. He throws himself into danger and then fights like hell to get out of it, because he can't die yet, not when there's so much left to atone for.

One of these days he's going to die. Well, die without the possibility to come back. One day it's going to be all over, no more chances, and he only hopes that he'll have done enough.

He wonders if killing Alastair counts as enough. He knows that Alastair will be replaced, that there will always be someone to torture hell's souls. Will killing Alastair even matter? Is it worth risking his life?

He has three days to decide.


	15. Chapter 15

Warnings: Warnings: Non-graphic sex scene (only took 100k for it to happen. Wonder how much more for an actual sex scene). Culmination of Dean's epicly bad decision making. So the first half of this chapter is rough, Dean goes to head to head with Alastair and all of Dean's self-worth issues come out. I promise that I don't leave him broken.

* * *

Dean knows he's decided the minute he convinces Coulson to give the Avengers and the Winchesters the day off, but he ignores the voice in the back of his head that tells him that. Instead, he sends out an email to everyone on his floor of the tower and informs them that there's a mandatory trip to Hershey Park happening. He even invites Coulson as a courtesy, but Coulson declines. His loss.

The six Avengers, two Winchesters, and Cas all head to Pennsylvania for the day, and they take a 15 passenger van, because Coulson refuses to give them permission to take a small aircraft.

They spend the day riding roller coasters until they're sick, winning the rigged games, and eating various forms of chocolate for meals (Reese's to celebrate their arrival, Hershey's with almonds for lunch, Twizzlers for desert, and Kit Kats for a mid-afternoon snack).

When they head back to the van, tired and sticky from the cotton candy they'd found on the way out, Dean has a neon orange bear in his arms, because Clint had won it for him. Dean can barely see around it, and it takes up two seats in the car, but Dean refuses to leave it behind.

Sam calls Dean a girl, but there's affection in his scowl, and Dean knows that everything's all right between them again, so he just grins and settles into the backseat with Clint and his bear and lets himself pretend for a moment that this could be his life.

The fantasy doesn't last very long, because then he remembers that tomorrow he's driving to New Jersey for what might be the end. The actual end. He's no longer needed as Michael's vessel so there's no reason for anyone to bring him back to life if he dies.

But he's not going to think about that until tomorrow. Tonight is still his. He leans his head against the bear and laces his fingers through Clint's, and pretends he doesn't feel the way Clint is looking at him like he's worried.

* * *

When they get back to the tower, Cas and Steve go down to the gym, because they're both wired from the excitement of the day and the ridiculous amount of sugar they've both consumed, and they need to work out their energy.

Tony's on the opposite side of the spectrum, about to collapse from a sugar crash, and Bruce gently leads him to bed. Thor gathers up all of his "war trophies" and goes to show them off to Jane.

Dean intercepts Sam when he and Natasha are on their way out. He touches Sam's shoulder, and Sam turns around, confused when he sees Dean standing behind him looking strangely serious.

"We alright?" Dean confirms. He's pretty sure they are, but he needs to make sure. He can't go into tomorrow if Sam's still pissed at him.

Sam frowns, confused, but he nods. "Yeah, Dean. We're alright."

Dean nods and, remembering how pissed Sam had been last time Dean died, he reaches out and gives Sam a tight hug. "Good. Uh," Dean pulls back, suddenly uncomfortable with his blatant display of affection. "Good."

He smiles and ignores Sam's gaping and heads up to the roof. He can't be inside his room right now. He can't be inside at all. He feels trapped. He is trapped. He knows it's ridiculous. He can choose not to do this at any moment. He can choose not to go tomorrow. This isn't fate or destiny or written into stone. There's no reason for him to feel hopeless. He's making this choice. Maybe that's what makes this so much worse.

This isn't the hellhounds coming for him. This isn't something that's going to happen no matter what. He can opt out. He can just not show.

Dean rolls his eyes at his own melodramatics. He needs to stop thinking like he's going to die tomorrow. He's checking in with everyone just in case he does die tomorrow, but he needs to stop expecting that he will. He's come out of worse situations. He'll come out of this one too.

"Cas thinks you're mad at him." Clint drops down next to Dean a moment later, and Dean's grateful that Clint had announced his presence by talking, because if he'd just slipped through the dark and sat down, he'd probably startle Dean enough for him to fall off the roof and wouldn't that be embarrassing. And painful. And life ending.

Still, Dean thinks Clint could've chosen something better to lead with. "Cas isn't a middle school girl. If he's upset with me, he'd tell me that point blank instead of sending someone else."

"He could only do that if you weren't avoiding him."

Dean doesn't have anything to say to that, because Clint can always tell when Dean's lying, and the truth is that Dean's been avoiding Cas. He feels guilty about it, because he doesn't want Cas thinking there's something wrong between them, but Dean can't face him. He's afraid that Cas will take one look at him and know what Dean's planning, and Dean knows Cas will try to stop him, and Dean can't let that happen.

Dean got himself into this Alastair mess, and it's about time he got himself out.

"Well, tell him I'm not mad at him," Dean says. "And that I regret we're now middle school girls."

"You could tell him yourself."

"I could."

Dean leaves it at that, and looks up at the sky. It's hard to make out stars in Manhattan, but Dean can see a few if he squints. He wonders how long it'll take for him to start thinking depressing things like that this might be the last time he ever sees stars.

He wonders if heaven has stars. He wonders why he thinks he'd go to heaven. He wonders if he will.

"You're distracted," Clint says. He moves over, closing the space between them so they're now touching from shoulders to shoes.

"Long day," Dean says.

"Mm." Clint's hand runs up the inside of Dean's thigh. "That should mean you're tired."

Dean shifts into Clint's touch, spreading his legs. "Definitely not tired."

"Can see that," Clint says, amused. "You're also deflecting."

"You're the one feeling me up," Dean points out. He wonders if Clint's going to point out that that was deflection. He doesn't, just rolls on top of Dean so their bodies are in full contact.

Dean stops thinking and acts. He kisses Clint, hard, like he's trying to memorize his mouth, like he's afraid he's never going to do this again. His hands clutch at Clint's shoulders, forming marks that will last for a couple days at least. Clint doesn't protest even though the bruises will show if he wears the sleeveless tops he prefers.

He lets Dean mark and claim, and he gives as good as he's got back. He sucks marks against the skin of Dean's collarbone, flips them so he can scratch lines down Dean's back.

At some point, between kisses and bites and scratches, they lose their clothes, and Dean ends up on his back again. He spreads his legs, begging desperately for something he can't ask for. He needs to be taken, he needs to stop thinking, he needs to lose his ability to choose, to decide, because he makes shit decisions. He needs someone to take care of him, to make everything good, to make him forget.

Clint eyes him speculatively for a moment, and Dean wonders if everything's written on his face. Does Clint know what's going through Dean's head? Does he know that when he wakes up in the morning that Dean will be gone?

Finally, Clint leans in and he kisses Dean. Soft, slow, and his hand curves over Dean's cheek. It's too gentle, and Dean's afraid he's going to shake apart so he bites at Clint's lip, and Clint growls and shoves his tongue into Dean's mouth and nothing is gentle after that.

* * *

In the morning, Dean wakes up early, a little sore, and he pretends that's why it's so hard for him to get out of bed. He takes a long, warm shower, and he pretends he lingers so long because the warm spray loosens his muscles.

He takes his time getting dressed and he pretends it's because he's trying to keep quiet, trying not to wake Clint up.

It doesn't work. Dean's tucking Ruby's knife into the sheath in his jacket when Clint blearily blinks at him from the bed.

"What are you doing?"

Dean smiles, the lie sliding easily off his tongue. "Going to get some breakfast from the café. You want a crepe?"

"It's too early for food," Clint groans.

He buries his head under his pillow.

Dean pretends he isn't upset that Clint hadn't seen through the lie, hadn't reached out a hand and pulled Dean back to bed.

* * *

Dean climbs into the Impala and turns the engine on. The radio starts playing _Highway to Hell_. Dean changes the station and thinks it's a good thing he doesn't believe in signs or he'd probably never make it out of the garage.

* * *

Dean has to pay ten dollars to get into the park which he thinks is absolute bullshit. He adds it to his reasons to hate New Jersey.

He parks the Impala by a set of picnic tables, and he passes by a family picnic and what looks like a company retreat as he heads towards the boathouse. He wonders what the odds are of him being able to sneak up on Alastair. He wonders if he'll even have time to throw the knife before Alastair throws him into the wall. He wonders if the building will come down when he hits the wall.

Dean decides to try being quiet, because any advantage he can get will help. He can hear low voices talking as he approaches, and he'd recognize Crowley and Alastair anywhere. They came together. So he'd been right about the trap.

He slips the knife out, ignores the front entrance and goes for a window. The glass has been broken, either from vandalism or a storm, and no one's bothered to fix it. Dean supposes there's no point in fixing something that's been written off as useless or too old or whatever made the boathouse get the boot.

Dean peers through the window. There are wooden racks lining the far wall, where canoes and kayaks used to rest, but they're empty now and the wood is rotting. Standing in the middle of the room is Crowley and closer to the entrance is Alastair. Neither of them have noticed Dean, too caught up in what Dean now realizes is some kind of argument.

Dean takes advantage and the throws the knife. It sinks into Alastair's shoulder, and the demon grunts, and his eyes snap to Dean's. Well, shit, Dean thinks, because Alastair isn't dead. The knife isn't powerful enough to kill him which means Dean is officially screwed.

A moment after he has the thought, Dean is yanked forward and his body crashes into the boat racks. He misses hitting his head, but he takes a wooden beam to the back, and it knocks the air out of his lungs and when Alastair lets him go, Dean crumples to the ground.

"You brought a kid's toy to a man's game," Alastair says. He plucks the knife from his shoulder, and Dean's pleased to note that at least Alastair's bleeding even if he'd not dead.

Dean had tortured countless of people because of the demon, been tortured by him, but he'd never drawn Alastair's blood. Now he has. Despite the shitty situation Dean's found himself in, he grins. And then he prays. _Cas, I'm sorry for not talking to you last night. I'm talking to you now. I need your help. I need you. I'm in way over my head._

"It's my favorite," Dean says. "Wouldn't have brought anything else."

"No?" Alastair tests the point of the blade against his finger. "I heard a rumor that you boys had something that packed a little more punch."

"You need to get a better source," Dean says. He's watching Crowley out of the corner of his eye, and he sees the moment Crowley realizes that Dean doesn't have the Colt. Disbelief, disappointment, and 'wow, this boy is an idiot' all flash across his face, and then he's back to looking bored, his hands clasped behind his back.

Alastair shrugs. "Won't be a problem soon. You'll be dead and that's all I really wanted."

Dean pretends that confession doesn't scare the shit out of him, because there's only one reason Alastair could want him dead. His soul's marked for hell. Dean's pretty sure walking into this building without the Colt just earned him a one way ticket back to hell. He wonders how long it'll take for him to break this time. He wonders if it's worth fighting at all when the time comes.

"Really?" Dean asks, going for bravado. "You really think I'm going to be fun to break a second time?"

The look Alastair levels him with is part patronizing, part pitying. "Oh, Dean. How can I break you again when you haven't been fixed?"

Dean sinks down into the floor, not caring that it looks like he's giving in, because he realizes that Cas hasn't showed up. There's nothing that should've stopped him. There's no emergency that would keep Cas from coming when Dean called. Which means Cas doesn't want to come.

He knows. He knows and Alastair knows and Dean knows. Dean's broken. He's not worth fighting for anymore, not worth protecting. Dean looks up at Alastair's deranged smile and realizes that he's on his own and seriously outgunned.

"You've been mine since the moment you made the deal for Sam's life," Alastair croons, and he slinks towards Dean. "You were always going to break, always had that weakness in you that the John Winchester school of training couldn't rid you of. All I had to do was push," Alastair crouches down, presses a finger against Dean's chest until it hurts, "and you broke."

Alastair, remembering that he's still holding Ruby's knife, trails the tip of the blade down Dean's chin. Dean wants to jerk back, roll away, but he knows it'll be useless. Alastair is faster than him, can pin him to the ground or the wall before Dean can even reach the door.

Dean knows when he's been beat. And for the first time in his life, he accepts it.

* * *

Alastair has Dean pinned against the wall, but it's only because Dean's legs won't hold him up, and Alastair wants Dean stretched against the wall like some kind of canvas or something. Dean can't bring himself to care.

He's going back to hell. Cas has abandoned him. He's not sure which one is worse. He should probably we worried about the knife that's back to tracing his jaw line, but he also doesn't care about that. He feels numb, empty. He's not even sure he'll register pain.

"Is this really necessary?" Crowley asks, looking bored.

"Sorry you can't stomach it." Alastair dips the knife beneath Dean's skin, the blade sliding in and pulling out. "Mortals bleed so pretty, don't they?" Alastair brings the knife to his lips and licks the tip.

Crowley rolls his eyes. "You are fond of dramatics, but why torture him here? When not bring him down below?"

"I'll have plenty of time to torture him down there. Might as well have some fun up here first." The knife rests against Dean's throat, a gentle pressure above his pulse, and then Alastair slowly turns back to Crowley. "You in a rush to get out of here?"

"Deals to make, souls to take," Crowley says, but his tone is too casual.

Alastair makes a small tsking sound and he taps the knife absent mindedly against Dean's skin. "I should've seen this sooner. Dean Winchester handed to me on a silver platter? Too good to be true. He does have the Colt, doesn't he? But he didn't bring it here." Alastair pauses, laughing as he figures out what's happened. "He thought you were double crossing him so he didn't bring it. But you were double crossing me."

The smile immediately drops off Alastair's face. "You dreamed too big, Crowley."

Dean watches, helpless, as Alastair rips the demon out of the human's body. The human drops to the floor. The demon shrieks and twists until Alastair puts it down in a crackle of black smoke.

Huh, Dean thinks. At least one demon died. His death won't be completely useless then.

"Oh no," Alastair says, petulant as he turns back to Dean. "I've lost my audience now, and I always perform best for a crowd."

"You need an audience?" a familiar voice asks. "Well, you've got one."

Dean looks up and past Alastair's shoulder to see Sam and Cas standing in the middle of the boathouse. Dean rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling. Of course they picked now to show up. Once Dean had resigned himself to them not showing up. Once Dean had realized that he didn't want them to show up.

"You should leave," Dean says. "He just killed Crowley. You can't do anything against him." Dean's aware that his voice is flat, emotionless. He knows that he's given up. Now they know too.

"Leave?" Sam demands. "You run off on some suicide mission, and you want me to leave you to die?"

Dean ignores Sam, looks at Cas. "Why did you come with him? You don't come when I call, I get it, I'm past saving, but," Dean trails off at the look on Cas's face. It's a mix of horror and pain, and it twists at something in Dean. He feels a sharp burst of pain, enough to choke a gasp out of him, to bring tears to his eyes, and suddenly he can feel again.

His back is throbbing from where it hit the beams earlier. His chin stings from being cut by the blade. His entire body feels tight, pressure from the magic that's holding him against the wall.

Cas hadn't hung him out to dry? That's what Cas's face is saying. It's what the tears misting in Cas's eyes are screaming, it's what the twist of his lips are explaining, but it isn't enough. Dean needs to hear him say it.

"Alastair is indeed more powerful than me," Cas says, and his eyes stay locked with Dean's not looking away, not giving Dean a chance to run. They're forcing him to pay attention, to listen, to believe. "He blocked your prayers to me. You," Cas pauses, looks on the verge of crying. "You thought I abandoned you?"

Dean looks at the knife clutched in Alastair's hands. Dean's blood is still on it, but there's so much more blood. Countless humans that had to die, because they'd had the bad luck of being possessed. Ruby's blood. Dean can still see her, chained up, begging for her life, for Dean to kill to, just for it all to stop. He can hear her screams, her pleas, can hear her broken answers to his questions.

Dean looks back up at Cas, but now he's unable to meet his eyes. "I don't deserve to be saved."

Cas shuts his eyes, and twin tears slide out, roll down his cheeks. Dean tilts his head back against the wall. Sam and Cas are here, but there's nothing they can do. Cas isn't strong enough to fight Alastair. All three of them are going to die here, and it's Dean's fault. If he hadn't made the deal, if he'd brought the Colt, if he'd gotten Alastair to kill him straight away instead of playing with him then maybe Sam and Cas could make it through this.

"Isn't this precious," Alastair says. He takes a step towards Cas, reaching his fingers towards Cas's cheek. "The tears of an angel. I heard there's no better taste in the world."

Dean struggles against Alastair's hold, but he's not going anywhere. Cas and Sam appear to be frozen as well. Alastair is the only one in the room moving, and his fingers are about to brush Cas's cheek when Dean hears a gunshot.

A moment later, Alastair drops to the ground, the demon fizzling out of the human host. Dean falls to the ground in a tangle of limbs, and by the time he's looking up, Clint is vaulting through the broken window, the Colt firmly in hand.

"I never miss," Clint says, tossing the gun to Sam. In an instant he's at Dean's side, cupping his face with both his hands then spreading them out, checking for damage.

"I'm fine," Dean says and he tries to pull away. He doesn't want Clint touching him. He doesn't want anyone touching him. His soul is marked for hell. He'd gone face to face with Alastair and almost died. He put his brother and Cas at risk.

"Are you?" Clint catches Dean's chin, forces his head up so Dean's looking at him. Clint holds his gaze for a moment, searching, and then he grabs the hem of Dean's shirt and tears. Dean's chest is covered in bites and bruises, in fading red scratch marks. Clint touches each hickey, presses his thumb into each bruise, trails his index finger down each line.

Dean tilts his head back against the wall and lets Clint reclaim him.

* * *

Cas zaps them back to SHIELD medical, not the Avengers Tower, and Dean is hustled to a room. He claims he doesn't need medical attention, but his stomach, upset from taking the Angel Bus, chooses that moment to complain, and Dean ends up vomiting all over the nice nurse's shoes.

She looks down at her scrubs, sighs, and then tells him that he can lie down on the bed or she'll break out the restraints.

After being pinned to a wall by demon magic and threatened with torture then an eternity of torture, Dean opts to stay away from restraints. He climbs into the bed, and he doesn't realize how tired he is until he falls asleep.

* * *

When Dean wakes up, there's a giant, neon orange bear in bed with him. He looks at the giant plastic eyes and groans.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Good think I'm not the jealous type," Clint says, from the visitor's chair.

Dean smiles when he sees Clint sitting there, and he reaches out his hand. His fingers are almost to Clint's when he remembers the events of this morning. Yesterday morning? Whatever. Dean remembers walking into a trap, remembers the vicious slant of Alastair's lips. _How can I break you when you haven't been fixed?_

Dean yanks his hand back, because he can't touch Clint with these hands. He turns his hands over so he can see the palms, and he can see the blood dripping down them. He's killed demons and spirits and werewolves, but he's also killed humans. Innocent humans. And he's tortured. Innocent humans. He's taken their souls and twisted, and he had enjoyed it.

Dean's hands start to shake. He clenches his hands into fists, trying to stop it, but it doesn't work. His hands continue to shake and the shaking works its way up his arms, into his shoulders, down his torso until his whole body is quaking.

Dean presses his fists to his eyes. The pain doesn't do anything to help the shaking, it just hurts, but he deserves the hurt. He deserves a lot of hurt.

"Dean," Clint says, his voice soft, coaxing like he's talking to a frightened animal. Dean supposes that makes him a frightened animal. There's a brief touch to the back of Dean's hands, light, almost not even a touch. It's a warning, preparing Dean for when Clint's fingers circle his wrists and give a small tug.

Dean lets Clint pulls his hands away, and he drops them to his sheet, fisting them in the light fabric.

"You want to sit up?" Clint asks. He holds up the bed controller and puts it on the bed between Dean's hands.

Dean eases the bed into a sitting positions and fiddles with the bear until they're both positioned comfortably.

"How long?" Dean asks. He looks around but there are no clocks, no calendars, nothing to give the sense of time passing.

"Five hours," Clint says. "They weren't expecting you to be awake for at least ten so I bet they're scrambling to get people down here."

"People?" Dean doesn't like the way that sounds. People means talking, and Dean doesn't want to talk. He doesn't really want to be awake either, because being awake means thinking.

"That's enough, Barton." Coulson comes into the room, looking pristine as usual in his suit. Dean notes the clipboard in his hand, the pen tucked into the clip, the no nonsense look on Coulson's face. Dean wonders if he's going to get fired. Where will he go if that happens? Bobby's? Probably. If Bobby will even take him.

"Good afternoon, Dean." Coulson pulls up a chair and sits down. He rests his left ankle on his right knee and rests his clipboard on his bent leg. "I'm here to debrief you. I've heard what Agent Barton, Sam, and Castiel have all seen, and Sam and Castiel have speculated about your role in the events, but I'd like the truth of what happened from you." Coulson gives Clint a look, and Clint gets up and leaves without a protest.

Dean clutches the hand of the neon bear and looks up at Coulson. "Where do you want me to start?"

* * *

After the debrief, Dean's given dinner, but dinner is watery soup and a roll, and it comes with Sam so Dean's not sure it's worth it.

Sam sets the tray down and drapes his long legs over the arms of the chair. He picks at his fingernails while Dean slurps loudly at his soup, needing some sort of noise to fill the room.

Halfway through Dean's soup, he gives up. He drops his spoon into the plastic bowl and looks over at Sam who is trying so hard to stay still and not say anything that his shoulders are shaking and Dean's pretty sure that there's a permanent indent in Sam's bottom lip from biting it.

Dean looks at Sam expectantly. Sam looks back, eyes wide, wary, hopeful, and after a moment Dean looks away and tucks his head against the stuffed bear's neck.

"Was this my fault?"

Dean shuts his eyes, presses his face further into the bear's highlighter orange fur. "No."

"I," Sam pauses and Dean can hear him swallow. Dean tells himself Sam isn't on the verge of tears. "I said some nasty stuff to you."

"This isn't your fault, Sammy." Dean's screwed up a lot over the past day, screwed up even more these few months. He can't believe he's screwed up so much that he's messed Sam up. Sam was never supposed to be a part of this. This was about Dean and his demons, literally and figuratively. No one else was supposed to get in involved. No one else was supposed to get hurt.

"But I—"

"No," Dean growls and he turns to see Sam, knees tucked up to his chest, fingers locked around his knees. "No." Dean's voice is softer, pleading, because can't Sam see that Dean can't handle this? He can't handle knowing that he's dragged Sam down this path with him. "I did this on my own. I made the decision to deal with Crowley, because I wanted Alastair dead. I thought it would bring me peace. It was selfish."

_Stop being so selfless_.

The words hang between the two of them. They were the catalyst that drove Dean to find Crowley, to arrange the final meeting with Alastair, but Dean's never going to tell Sam that, and he's going to do his best to make sure Sam doesn't believe that.

"I screwed up," Dean says. And I almost didn't make it out of this. I wouldn't have without you, without Cas, without Clint. I almost lost everything.

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "We're both pretty good at that."

"Yeah."

Sam looks over at Dean. "We're pretty good at bailing each other out too."

"Lots of practice," Dean says but there's a small smile tugging at his lips.

Sam smiles back, wide, bright, forgiving, and Dean curls up with the bear again. They're okay. Everything else will fall into place.

* * *

The guy doing the pysch eval arrives with pudding. Dean eyes the plastic cup with interest, but he doesn't want to talk to head people, and there's no amount of pudding that'll change his mind.

Clint and Coulson accompany the psych guy, and Dean looks over at where Sammy's still in the visitor's chair. He's not talking to anyone about his feelings with an audience. Not that he's going to talk about his feelings anyways.

The pysch guy apparently sense Dean's hesitance or he's been warned, because he stops a couple feet from Dean's bed and holds his hands out to show that he's not a threat, that he's respecting Dean's space.

Dean realizes that Clint, Coulson, and Sam are watching him, expectant and that this is some kind of set up or intervention. The only person that's missing is Cas.

A moment later, Cas appears in the room, startling everyone, even Dean.

"You thought my name," Cas says, eyes only for Dean, the intensity almost too much. Dean's in a thin hospital gown with an even thinner sheet, and it's not enough protection for the look he's getting. It's the look that dives into Dean's psyche, reads him, leaves him feeling bare, exposed. Dean clutches the bear, holding it in front of him as shield.

"Ah," Cas says. He steps forward, pries the bear from Dean's arms, and Dean is left with no defenses. He doesn't even have the space to hide, because his back is against the bed, and Cas is crowding into his space, until all Dean can see is Cas.

"You do not deserve to be saved," Cas says, and hurt flashes across Dean's face and his hand curls into a fist and then falls listless at his side. Cas reaches out, smooths his thumb over Dean's cheek. "No human does." Cas's other hand comes up to cup the other side of Dean's face, and Cas leans in until Dean has nowhere to look but Cas's eyes.

"You have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God," Cas says, his breath a whisper across Dean's lips. "You are all damned without His grace. There is nothing you can do to earn salvation. There is no number of demons you can slay, no amount of evil you can vanquish. You cannot earn salvation. You can only accept it."

Dean can't look away from the startlingly blue eyes in front of him. He can't break Cas's grip, and he doesn't want to. Cas is confirming all of Dean's worst fears. There's nothing Dean can do. He can't fight his way to heaven, he can't impress God. And for some reason, that lifts a burden off of Dean's shoulders. He can feel tears spring into his eyes, and he realizes he's shed them when Cas brushes them away.

"You are special," Cas says. "Our Father loves you and cherishes you, and He has offered you salvation. Accept it."

Cas leans in and brushes his lips over Dean's forehead. They're warm, reassuring, and Dean sinks back into his pillows.

Cas pulls back and looks at the gaping psych guy. "Dean Winchester is the human in my charge. I pulled his soul from hell and reknit his body with my grace. I have held his soul in my hands. You cannot possibly know him the way I do; therefore, you cannot help him the way I can."

The man turns to Coulson, and Coulson gives an unhelpful shrug. "Hard to argue with an Angel of the Lord."

The man nods and shuts his mouth. "I guess I'll go somewhere else then."

Dean shuts his eyes so he doesn't know how long it takes the man to leave. He's glad his talk was with Cas and not the man. He probably wouldn't have gotten down to the real problem, probably wouldn't have fixed him the way Cas has.

Because Dean feels light now, free. He'd been trying to prove himself to God and that was probably the stupidest idea he'd ever had. He's human, he's broken, he's flawed, there's no way he could've convinced God that Dean's life was worth living, that his soul was worth saving. It's a relief to have that pressure lifted, to have that burden erased.

Now Dean just has to live. And live well. Or, at least as well as he's able. He has permission not to be perfect, permission to screw up, permission to be human.

* * *

When Dean opens his eyes again it's just him and Clint. Well, and the bear, still clutched in Dean's arms, the short fur tickling Dean's nose.

He pulls back and sneezes, and Clint smirks.

"Ready to get out of here?" Clint asks and Dean forgives him for smirking.

"So ready."

Clint nods like he'd been expecting that answer. "I forged your signature on the discharge papers so we can just go."

Dean laughs, and it feels good to hear the sound. It brings a smile to Clint's face and the two of them, the bear dangling between them, head back to the tower.

* * *

They're lying in bed that night, after a dinner with the Avengers where everyone pretended that everything was okay, like Dean hadn't run away and almost gotten himself killed by demons, like Dean hadn't broken all the rules by making deals with demons.

Dean's grateful that no one's talking about it, even more grateful that dinner isn't actually that awkward considering they're avoiding a pretty large white elephant.

When Clint brings it up, he has one of his legs slipped between Dean's and an arm wrapped around Dean's waist, and his head is resting on the flat plane of Dean's chest.

"Next time, tell me," Clint says.

He doesn't tell Dean not to do anything stupid again, because they both know better than to ask for things that are impossible. Clint's asked for something that Dean can actually do.

"Yeah," Dean says, and his drops his hands to run through Clint's hair. A thank you for not pushing too much, a thank you for being here, a thank you for just being himself.

Clint's hand tightens around Dean's waist, and Dean knows that he understands.

* * *

The end! Thank you for everyone who's stuck with me through both stories, and I hope you enjoyed them. I wrote a companion piece that follows Sam and Natasha throughout Domestic Bliss, because I realize that their relationship didn't get much attention in this one, and I wanted a chance to explore it.

It's called The Sam Winchester Curse, because doesn't let me link.


End file.
